Dear Carter
by DCWash
Summary: I’m most interested in writing about life after the fighting is over, but to do that, I have to reach further back for context until right after the Gang has returned from the Holy Land. Hence, an epistolary novel. To Carter, who lives! As does Marian!
1. Chapter 1

Dear Carter,

I hope this letter finds you well and fully recovered from the ordeal inflicted on you by the traitor Vasey.

I regret not having written before, but there has been little news to report. Our journey to Nottingham was long and arduous—so arduous, in fact, that I feared it would deplete our numbers even further. As you know, we left the Levant as soon as Marian's wounds had healed enough to allow her to travel. We paused at Queen Eleanor's court in Aquitaine for rest and refreshment. However, as we prepared to leave that place of pleasure and refinement, my good right hand, Little John, begged leave to stay behind. I feared his age and his bitter experiences in Palestine had caught up with him and he had, as a consequence, lost the vigor needed to continue our mission in England. Her Majesty must have observed the same, for she had offered him good pay and gentle duties if he remained in her service as a Sergeant at Arms. I could hardly begrudge him the opportunity, especially since he had served me so well for so long, but that did not make our parting any less heart-rending.

However, John has recently rejoined our little band of fighters! His sojourn with the Queen did indeed prove a boon to his well-being. He appears to be a new man, not only in terms of physical strength but in terms of spiritual contentment.

It is good to have him. Vasey and Gisbourne continue to wreak havoc on the people of Nottingham, with special attention unfortunately paid to my former estates in and around Locksley and to Marian's Knighton Manor. With only four of us—Marian is still too frail to be of martial support though I continue to hope for her marital support (ha ha!)--I fear we cannot strike at the Sheriff's power the way we did in the past. We are reluctantly discussing a tactical retreat to another part of the forest. I will try to keep you informed about our efforts.

Yours in service to the king,

Robin, Earl of Huntingdon

Dear Carter,

When Robin told me he was writing you, I asked if I could add my respects if there was any room left on the page. I do add them—my respects, that is, as do your old friends John and Much—but I feel I also must correct some possible misapprehensions left by Robin in his words above. Vasey and Gisbourne are indeed up to their old tricks, but Robin seems blind to the fact that Locksley and Knighton are made targets specifically to draw he and I out, to punish the villagers for what are perceived as _our_ "sins" and to turn the people against us. As such, Robin himself is the only one "reluctant" to leave the area. We will see how this turns out.

And as for John...one must be discreet, but he has indeed been well and repeatedly "refreshed," so to speak. He has also become much more attentive to his grooming and appeared before is with shorn hair, a trimmed beard, and fine new clothes—almost unrecognizable! Make of that what you will.

Yours truly,

Marian of Knighton

P.S. I don't know if you remember Allan a Dale? He also sends greetings and says he wishes he could have been introduced under happier circumstances.

P.P.S. And let's not discuss that awful martial/marital pun….

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Dear Carter:

Again, I must apologize for a delay in writing. Yasmin—for such we call our pigeon--has been ill and unable to deliver letters.

As I indicated was possible, I have been persuaded to move camp, across Sherwood entirely. I dare not give too many details, but Vasey is learning the hard way that he is up against a highly maneuverable Band of Brothers.

Marian, I confess, is now my main cause of concern. She continues to postpone our official marriage. I consider the vows we exchanged in the Holy Land to be sufficient for both God and Man, but she, apparently, does not. She continues to await the arrival of the king and the overthrow of our old nemesis (or are they nemesises?) and says the poor cannot afford for us to turn our attention our own happiness. She is even talking about joining a convent in this area. Frankly, I fear for her heart…and mind.

Your friend,

Robin of Locksley

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Dear Carter:

When Robin told me he was writing another letter, I again asked to add a post-script. Instead, after discussion with him about his words to you, I feel I _must_ write my own letter as a rebuttal.

In particular, I must defend myself against his implications of _fickleness_ and his suggestions of _insanity_! _Yes_, I love Robin! I dared _the wrath of Guy of Gisbourne_ to proclaim it! I proclaim it _now_! But I have _always_ said we have work to do and _cannot_ rest until Richard returns! _I am not fickle_!

I _am_ more concerned about our people than I am about striking _personal_ blows against Guy and the Sheriff, despite their blows against _us_. That is why I urged him so _forcefully_ to move away from Locksley and Knighton—the poor need help in other neighborhoods as well, help that we can _better deliver_, and with less risk to them or to us. Much, of course, was ambivalent—I believe he saw my point, but he always hesitates to come out against Robin's wishes. I _know_ Allan agreed--he even scouted new locations for the gang to use as camps, on the borders of Vasey's own lands. But Robin never listens to Much _or to me_ and still does not _fully_ trust Allan. It wasn't until John returned and saw how his old friends in Locksley and Clune were being treated, and heard them beg—_beg_!—us to leave that decisive action was taken. Once Robin regained consciousness in the new camp across the forest, he began to see reason.

As for the convent—I have no plans to "join" St. Martha's as Robin said. But I _am_ weary of bloodshed, and I reluctantly admit that still feel the effects of my "war wounds." My only intent as the "Nightwatchman" was to deliver relief to the poor I viewed as being under my care—I only took arms to defend myself while delivering that relief. Now I find the sisters of St. Martha's _also_ consider the poor of this, our new neighborhood, "under their care," and are very determined and _more effective than Robin acknowledges_ at providing help. Yes, I _have_ spoken to the mother superior about coming under her protection, but as a _paying_ _guest_ or in some similar capacity, _not_ as a novice!

I fear the pigeon will not be able to bear the weight such a long letter if I continue writing, so I close as,

Your friend,

Marian of Knighton

P.S. And the pigeon is molting, not sick! They do that every year at this time, as Robin would have noticed if he had ever in his lifetime turned his thoughts to domestic matters!

P.P. S. It seems John learned was taught his letters at Aquitaine! He has asked to add his own note below.

Dear Sir:

Robin and Maryin r showting agin and i fer wil giv away owr locay lokee ware we are. If u see Will and jack pleez giv them ar luv. And do u now sandal wood? the parfum? pleez send sum if yu kan. i kan pay—i hav my own monee from Elanor.

Yurs trulee,

John Little


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** "Dear Carter" – Part 2

**Author:** ]dcwash

**Characters:** Robin, John. Carter, Marian and others referred to.

**Disclaimer:** All characters, especially Carter, belong to BBC/Tiger Aspects

**Rating:** E for Everybody.

**Spoilers:** Not a one.

**Length:** 740 words

**Summary: **The correspondence between the denizens of Sherwood and Carter—who is still in the Holy Land—continues. All is not going well with Teh Gang.

Dear Carter,

You asked about our new home. I suppose that as the crow flies, it is not so far from Locksley or from our old camp, but at times it feels like a different country. None of us is as familiar with this new territory as with the old, and it leaves us uncertain in all our actions. We are without the kind of clever housing you mentioned so fondly in your letter since we are without Will Scarlet, so life is less comfortable. Still, I am glad to say we do better than we did originally, when we had no better than our cloaks to shelter us from the elements—for one thing, two years in Sherwood have taught us all woodcraft skills we never imagined, though we are certainly far from the level of the ingenious Will. For another, the hills and ravines around here are pocketed with caves, large and small, which are dependable retreats during downpours. The new "digs"—as Allan calls them—have prompted much discussion among the men.

I am evaluating how our mission should best proceed in this strange land. There seems to be less traffic on the highways through the forest, but what there is seems to be of richer pickings—though, alas, the more heavily guarded for that, at a time when our numbers are weakest. Villages are larger here than in my old manors, where Locksley, with only about thirty houses, was the major seat; here, Brockford must hold fifty cottages while upwards of one hundred families call Cawlthorpe home. Places of that size are near to being proper towns, and come with some town-like amenities, such as alehouses. However, for all of that, the people seem reserved in their ways and more resentful to the world at large. I assume their attitude comes from living under Vasey's harsh rule for so long, since they have always rightfully, if grudgingly, called him "lord." I am unsure still if such sullenness shall prove help or hindrance, or as to whether the villagers shall prove friends or foes.

Robin of _Locksley_

P.S. I send you my thanks as a friend for the separate letter you sent to John. He seems quite proud to be your correspondent! In truth, I believe yours may be the first letter he ever received—certainly the first he could read himself. You have cheered him greatly.

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Deer Carter

Thank yu for yur letter. It has cheered me grately. Life here is hard. Ar wooden huse provides no protecshun, so when it ranes, we soke or move to a cave. Caves I do not like! They are too small and tite and dark. We have no frends in the villages so by no food like bred or carrots or bred or beer, only meet we shoot or trap like rabbits. When a rich man comes by, we do not rob him enimore, but sit. Many here ar poor, but we sit! Maryon and Robn fite alot. So do Much and Alan. And still we sit! And still it ranes.

Pleze tell Will and Jak we miss them. I wud rite them myself but I do not no Pershan.

Yurs trulee,

John Little

Dear Carter,

Only a note to thank you for your news about the king and to inform you that Marian is no longer with us. She has left Sherwood to join the sisters at St. Martha's.

I have lost not only my only love but my only counsel. And now I fear I may lose my company and ultimately, my cause. The men grow fractious and restless. I feel I am losing my authority with them—commands are not obeyed with the alacrity they once were, and I seem to find resentment in their visages. At one point I was convinced an erstwhile traitor had reverted to his old ways when I noticed his absence from camp late at night, and then found this was not the first time he had so absconded. We exchanged harsh words on his return, with accusations on my part and recriminations on his. We very nearly came to blows. It took his (rather ostentatious) contribution of a conspicuously fat purse to our meager coffers to convinced me that, whatever his nocturnal activities actually were, he remains on our side of the struggle. How steady is his conviction? That continues to be in doubt.

Though troubled in heart, I remain

Your friend,

Robin, Earl of Huntingdon


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Carter,

I am writing to inform you of my removal from Sherwood to St. Martha's Abbey, near Bilsthorpe. What I hinted at in my last letter has come to pass—I am living here under the abbess' protection, but am not, _officially_, a member of the house or of the order.

The abbess is a courageous and generous hostess, but the fact that I have recently been declared _outlaw_ has complicated my situation—for a woman to be declared outlaw is unusual; for a gentlewoman, it is perhaps unprecedented, and it took some time for the abbess to discern the proper path to take under such conditions. As she said, she must consider not only my safety, but the safety of the sisters entrusted to her care by God Almighty.

In the past, men have sought sanctuary from the abbess, and received it gladly. The abbess found a happy compromise in those situations by offering the men shelter in the chapel of the hospice just outside the convent, where lay sisters would tend to their needs as they tended to the needs of the travelers in the wider hospice compound. By staying in the chapel, the men came under the authority of Church law while the abbess negotiated a solution to their temporal problems; the charges against them were almost always of such small consequence that Mother Edith did not think even the Sheriff's guard would risk bringing down the wrath of the Church by storming the chapel doors to bodily drag the wanted men away. At the same time. remaining within the hospice prevented those same wanted men from disrupting the feminine world within the convent itself.

However, as I said, my case is unique. As such, Mother Edith believes I would draw unwanted and probably _dangerous_ attention to myself, and to the sisters and their works, if I were to reside in as public a situation as the hospice, especially considering there is no end in sight to my ignoble status. I would be just another postulant if I were to retreat to the cloister, though, and _none_ would dare challenge the sanctity of its walls or the authority of the abbess over what goes on within.

You may start at the word "postulant," given my betrothal to Robin and all that has passed between us. Robin did more than "start" (as you may well imagine!) and even I quailed a bit at the abbess' suggestion, though I knew that the vows of postulants are of lighter consequence than the vows taken by full sisters. Rest assured that that status attached to the name Marian of Knighton is simply a ruse--one made at the abbess' suggestion! I have taken no vows and am, officially, free to come and go as I like. That being said, Mother Edith was quite grave when she stated that she could only guarantee my safety _while I am within the convent itself_, and that the protection offered by her name is more likely to falter the further I roam, even if I am out on convent business. This means I am not able to deliver aid to the poor the way I had anticipated; however, as the reverend mother said, food and medicine must be produced before they can be administered, and they always need another pair of hands in the garden and cowshed, kitchen and creamery.

The result is that I find myself in a more straitened condition than I had anticipated when I first began considering a life here. I remind myself that I am here _by choice_ and have the freedom to leave _at will_, and indeed have many freedoms the "sisters proper" (as I have come to call them in my thoughts) have relinquished. _I have taken no vow_—as Robin _refuses_ to understand!—and have _chosen_ to live my life in such a way that shows respect for the monastic rule the nuns obey, without necessarily obeying it myself. I dress as a postulant because it is easier; I remain within the walls because it is safer. So far the life here has been wonderfully peaceful yet intriguing, though I fear—and, indeed, I believe Mother Edith fears—my restless nature may make such feelings short-lived. Perhaps that is why she has hinted that she may expand my duties so as to find use for my "unusual skills and proclivities" (as she termed them) in the near future—but I must say no more on _that_ matter, lest I jinx her plans by overwanting.

My one care is for Robin. My "Cock Robin" now seems so unsure, so tentative! Without his beloved Locksley to fight for, I fear he has lost much of the motivation that carried him forward, through the worst of travails, from the very day he returned from the Crusades. The need for justice and for succor is still great in this country, but Robin can no longer deliver them to those he loves in particular, and must instead deliver them to those he loves in the abstract, strangers who—for now--suspect him and his gang, and who may easily find the bounty on his head more appealing than anything he himself can deliver. To add to Robin's problems is the fact that when he lost Will Scarlet and Djaq, he lost a third of his band of fighters. With so few men, in such a strange and hostile land, _he must change tactics and strategy_! I have tried to offer counsel, but in truth, though I have been trained to "fight," I have _not_ been trained in _warfare_, and as such feel he trusts little in my advice, perhaps rightly so. When I left Sherwood, tensions were rising between Robin and his men and even among the men themselves—it felt as if they trusted less in his leadership than before, and were less sustained by the righteousness of their cause. I was loathe to leave under those circumstances, but had begun to feel that my presence was only adding to the strain all were feeling. A short but sharp illness brought on, I believe, by exposure to the elements forced my hand and convinced even Robin that a change in my circumstances must be made.

But I ramble! At least the poor pigeon will not suffer for my loquacity this time. I send this through the ecclesiastical channels available to St. Martha's, which I am assured is the most dependable means of communication with the Kingdom of Jerusalem. I assume that any response from you should travel the same way.

Yours in Christ,

Marian of Knighton

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My Dearest Djaq (or should I call you Safiya now!),

I have _not_ forgotten your request as my physician for an accounting of my medical condition—I clearly remember how worried you appeared upon our departure. I trust that you received the assessment of the physician at the court of Aquitaine. However, circumstances beyond my control have prevented me from sending any more recent information.

My wound troubled me for the entire journey from Acre to Nottingham, though the pain decreased as time went on; besides, I had anticipated discomfort given your warnings and the initial severity of the wound. By the time we reached the country around Knighton and Locksley, it caused no real interference with the duties and functions of daily life, though, as you warned, I remained in a weakened state when compared to the strength I maintained before I left England.

I rejoined Robin and his men in Sherwood Forest shortly after our return to Nottingham, living, I believe, much as you lived with them previously—I had been declared _outlaw_ and had difficulty finding other hospitality. This was my only choice, but it still may not have been a _wise_ one. Shelter was hard to come by without Will's carpentry skills, and the weather has been unusually rainy even for this climate. Oh, Djaq, _how did you bear_ _it!_ My own sojourn to your country was quite brief, but it was enough to make me long for the sun and warmth we experienced there! I can hardly imagine what it must have been like for one who had known those blessings for an entire lifetime to experience our familiar _gloom_!

Whether it was because of the damp…whether it was because of the lingering effects of my wound…whether it was because of the meager forest diet…I became ill. A cold settled in my lungs and briefly turned, I believe, into pneumonia. I had earlier spoken with the abbess of St. Martha's convent, near our location in Sherwood, about the possibility of finding shelter with her nuns. My illness gave the matter a greater urgency and I now sleep, as the sisters do, in a cell within the convent walls.

Much to my own surprise, I find I rather enjoy life here--a relief after the oppressive atmosphere of the castle and later the rough life of the forest. I know you lived with Robin and his men exactly as they did. Perhaps that makes you _the only one_ who truly understands how I now find the company of my sex—and _none but_ my sex—to be a comfort. I must stress that _I never feared for my safety, nor for my virtue_ with Robin's men, but being the only woman in their company was still a constant trial. Such simple acts as dressing, washing, and performing _other necessary rituals of grooming and hygiene_, took forward planning. Even then it was impossible to completely avoid blushes, as much on the men's part as on mine. (Poor Much!) The mood among the men was tense during this time, for many reasons, and I came to believe that my presence only exacerbated those tensions. I know _I_ was relieved when I left; I would not be surprised—now would I be offended—if _the men_ felt a similar emotion.

Now I feel my strength grow apace. I luxuriate in the comfort of regular, wholesome, varied meals—in a mattress that, though of simple straw, is at least not on the wet, cold, stony ground—in walls that keep out the wind and a roof that keeps out the rain. I would feel quite guilty except for the fact that I honestly do contribute to feeding the poor. I even have the care and milking of a particular cow (named _Rosamund_) as part of my work assignment, and I made my first cheese from her offerings last week! I have emphasized to Robin—_repeatedly!_—that _I have taken no vows_ but I still must respect the "rule" the sisters live under. I think when Mother Edith first told me that was a condition of receiving sanctuary in her house, she feared I would vociferously condemn the more contemplative aspects of convent life, and indeed I came here believing any time spent in duties that did not _directly_ relate to the care of the weakest amongst us as _time ill-spent_. Now that I am here, I show "respect" in such ways as joining the sisters in prayer once or twice a day (feeling it discourteous to shun the chapel altogether) but not for every one of the _eight_ services they conduct _each day_. They keep many hours in silence, the better for private meditation. During those periods I try to avoid undue noise but spend my time in the convent library, or brushing my cow, or in some similar quiet _activity_. I obey the abbess' urging that I not leave the extended convent premises, but have given a myself a time limit for such unquestioning obedience. Etc. So far, the compromise seems to meet all our purposes. (Except, as you may expect, _Robin's!_)

However, it is a long way from the daring deeds of the Night Watchman, and both the mother superior and I fear my restless nature will soon revive. When I first asked Mother Edith for shelter, I tried to hide my past life while stopping short of telling _outright lies_. You can imagine my surprise to learn she not only knew of my outlaw status, but of my life as the Night Watchman and even my relationship with the notorious Robin Hood! An even greater surprise was to find that she _approved_ of Robin's work—in principle if not in all its particulars--and even held him in a certain _esteem!_ Now she has taken to speaking privately with me about St. Martha's working _in cooperation with Robin! _As she said, when there are eleven villages that need aid, there is no point in both the sisters and Robin's men--simply from a want of communication--bringing assistance to the same village while ten others go wanting. So far, her words appear to be mere musings, but the fact that she tells them to _me, privately,_ makes me feel she has some purpose in mind—hopefully _outside_ of the convent precincts, and perhaps even with my_ infuriating, impetuous, _yet_ beloved Robin!_

Please write me back when you have a chance. I believe you now live within quarters restricted to the women of the house in which you reside? If so, then you perhaps sympathize with _how wonderful_ it is to be again amongst those for whom _belching_ contests are not considered the highest form of after-dinner entertainment! I would like to hear your version of such a life. You can write to me at St. Martha's, near Bilsthorpe, Nottinghamshire. As you see, I am sending this missive care of our mutual friend Carter. It would probably be best for you to trust any letter to me to him as well—I assume messages to Robin can still travel via "carrier" pigeon, and I assure you, any missives from you and Will will (_ha!_) be most welcome.

Your friend,

Marian of Knighton

P.S. I don't know if you have been told that Little John, at his _advanced age_, has learned to (roughly) read and write! I am sure he would appreciate receiving his own, private, correspondence from you and especially from Will, about whom we have learned nothing. Though, upon further reflection, I am not sure in which language he has gained literacy—_French_, perhaps, since he was taught at _Queen E------r's_ court?

P.P.S. A short addendum—a serendipitous morsel I found I found on the library shelves this morning.

It seems my cloistered home was once a center of learning and book-making, which explains the presence of what appeared to be a translation of a book of stories from _your_ land. It included this description of, perhaps, our Safiya in yet another guise?

_Now this Vizier had two daughters, the elder called Shehrzad and the younger Dunyazad, and the former had read many books and histories and chronicles of ancient kings and stories of people of old time; it is said indeed that she had collected a thousand books of chronicles of past peoples and bygone kings and poets. Moreover, she had read books of science and medicine; her memory was stored with verses and stories and folk-lore and the sayings of kings and sages, and she was wise, witty, prudent and well-bred._

I almost clapped my hands with delight when I read that passage, I was so reminded of you, but I restrained lest the noise disturb the _silent_ sisters.

The messenger awaits. Adieu!


	4. Chapter 4

Title: "Dear Carter" – Part 4

Author: dcwash

Characters: Robin, John. But Robin quotes Carter back to himself and mentions other gangstahs.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect

Rating: E for Everybody.

Length: 1142 words

Summary: In which Robin discusses his new plans. And John issues a pity comment about those plans.

Dear Carter,

Please rest assured that I do not take offense at your assumption of the role of tactical confidant—as I once said to Will Scarlet, a wise man listens to advice. Such advice is doubly valuable coming from a man who is not only a true and understanding friend but one experienced with the harsh ways of the world.

I took your suggestions about "working to our strengths and not our weaknesses, no matter what our desires may ask" to mean that you believe we should rethink our hopes of directly attacking Vasey. As much as I loathe the man, I have—however reluctantly—come to agree: we no longer have Marian's eyes and ears in the castle, so any attempts to circumvent his schemes would be fruitless. Also, King Richard now knows how things stand in England, meaning he not only knows that treason of a massive scale is afoot, but of my own reduced fortunes. My tiny cadre, alone, cannot keep Prince John from usurping the throne. It will take armies to do that, armies that I would be proud to join and even to lead, but that only the king himself can raise.

Which is not to say we cannot make life more difficult for the traitors, and better for the common people, by "going through back channels," so to speak. I have been surprised to learn that Vasey's power comes from below as much as from above. I had assumed that fear motivated any support he received from the yeomen and gentry, but instead I find this part of Nottingham is full of his willing minions, vassals he has amply rewarded for their loyalty and their ability to collect and pay taxes. But that loyalty is conditioned on the belief that Vasey will continue to make them rich, or at least that he is strong enough to keep them safe from any who may want to interfere with their lucrative livelihoods. In this, I am happy to prove them wrong. For who is better prepared to interrupt the making and hoarding of money than a band of desperate outlaws? Especially outlaws such as mine! Little John, it seems, learned the finer points of cattle stealing during his youth in the border country. Allan a Dale's list of criminal accomplishments is so long as to defy description (off the top of my head, I remember he has been a successful housebreaker and cutpurse and tavern trickster) but he is also skilled in many forms of gambling, winning even when he plays by the rules. And while I trust that Much is no such expert in thievery, I know he is a quick learner and the bravest of fighters. I am confident that once Vasey's lesser allies realize the truth—that ties to him makes them more vulnerable, not less, to our depredations, and that his brute force is regularly outmaneuvered by a handful of men who can melt into the shadows of the forest only to emerge to steal again—they will seek a new liege lord. At the least, Vasey will spend so much time and treasure quelling discontent among his ranks that he will be of little use to Prince John.

In truth, despite what may sound like bravado, I find such a strategy almost shameful. The honourable thing would be to meet the king's—and my!--enemies face to face instead of harrying humbler men a step removed from the treachery. But that brings me to your second point, that I must reexamine my own leadership. As you noted, you and I and the others of our class are raised to issue orders and are used to being obeyed. You are right that that that works well in a battlefield or in a court, but is perhaps less applicable to my current state. For instance, I have long resisted my gang's urgings to steal in whatever way possible from whomever has a fat purse. To me it was obvious that the highway robbery we committed had a certain integrity, since it required us to take a stand before our foes, and I demanded that the members of my gang see things likewise. I am only now realizing the discontent that has engendered. The men, even Much, have made it clear that seeing some forms of theft as expressions of gallantry while condemning others as common and petty is the luxury of a nobleman raised with a sense of chivalry, one that genuine outlaws can ill afford. They have also made it clear that, for them, the virtue of helping the poor and hurting the king's enemies is not quite its own reward. Allan in particular has repeatedly pointed out that, without roofs over our heads and with rags on our backs, _we_ are now the poor, a fact that I have been almost constitutionally unable to admit. I will try from now on to defer to their respective skills in the new manner in which we pursue our goals; perhaps that is the best way to command without being a tyrant, to show respect without ceding all leadership. It will be trickier to find a way to compensate them more materially while still standing for a higher purpose, but it must be done. They are grown men, after all, and as such do deserve some fruits of their labors…and the freedom to enjoy those fruits.

In short, I must stop thinking in political terms and to pay more attention to the welfare of my people, whether that means my comrades in the forest or strangers who have nowhere else to turn to for help. Marian has long urged me to concentrate on what I _can_ do instead of what I _should_ do, and I am determined to follow her lead in this matter. For despite the wealth I described earlier, there is also much poverty here. Vasey's friends are petted, his enemies are punished, and the rest—the peasants—are taxed and then ignored. Though there are political gains to be made by transferring the wealth of the masters back to their servants, I must remember that the relief of suffering is, in and of itself, a goal of far greater nobility. Marian believes that so thoroughly that she has joined the convent of St. Martha's as a dairymaid! I cannot countenance it; neither, I imagine, can her poor cow.

Yours sincerely,

Robin

P.S. John asks to add a note, attached below.

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Deer Carter

Thank u for the sandalwood. It makes life in camp much more pleasant. It has stopped raining, which also helps. As for the rest of Robin's letter…_FINALLLY!!!!!!_

(But Marian has not joined the convent or becum a milkmaid nun, or why else was she here this morning? She did help me with my spilling and punctation, though. Nice lass, that.)

Your friend,

John Little of Locksley


	5. Chapter 5

Title:"Dear Carter" – Part 5

Author: dcwash

Characters: : Robin, John. But Robin quotes Carter back to himself and mentions other gangstahs.

Disclaimer: : All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspects

Rating: : E for Everybody.

Length: : 1572 words

Summary: Letters to and about Will, about life in the forest and tricking rich folks out of their money.

Dear Carter:

It had not occurred to me until I received your latest missive that the reason I had not heard word directly from Will Scarlet was that he did not have the skills to write a long letter himself. I had begun to feel hurt; I should have been more trusting of that most trustworthy of fellows. It is for that reason that I am including a letter to him instead of simply asking you to pass on a message—it is perhaps easier for me to initiate contact with him than for the reverse, and may perhaps save him some embarrassment. I understand that you may need to read the letter to him yourself and I am sure I can trust in your discretion. That said, I do not believe I am passing on any information or sentiments of a more confidential nature than I have written before. I welcome you to consider anything in my correspondence with Will to be intended for your eyes as well.

I do have one separate request, however. You will observe that I ask Will for an assessment of his current situation. I also ask you for the same thing. I said above that I had begun to feel hurt at Will's silence. It is at least as accurate to say I had begun to feel concern. I know Will remained behind in Acre of his own volition and that Bassam takes his role as protector quite seriously. But I also know that outsiders are always the subject of suspicion in lands riven by war, and for all his good qualities, there can be no one more foreign in the Holy Land and more representative of the invading peoples than Will Scarlet, a peasant carpenter's son from the English Midlands. I am sure that Will will put the best face possible on things. I only ask that you inform me if he is in not so much danger as distress, even distress of the heart, which I have come to suspect. I do not know what I can do from such a distance, but I have known the lad since his birth and feel a certain responsibility for him beyond that which I feel for the other members of my gang.

We are finally settling into a productive routine here in Sherwood, thanks in no small part to your recent advice. But rather than repeat myself, here and again in Will's letter, I sign myself,

Your friend,

Robin

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My Dearest Will,

Words cannot express my gratitude for the plans you sent. The drawings are estimably clear and the design simple, so much so that I have no doubt that even such oafs as ourselves will be able to construct comfortable shelter by using them as our guide. Yes, the structure will be much less elaborate than the camp you built near Locksley, but the country around here is riddled with small caves that may not suit for sleeping but serve well as counting houses, armories, and larders, so we need not go to the trouble of building such facilities.

I believe your design will admirably suit the new mode of living that we are adopting. I have been hesitant to establish a large, permanent camp again, fearful that it would be too tempting a target in a region where we are less sure of the good will of the populace than we were around Locksley. At the same time, we were all loathe to revert to the discomforts of the life we led when we first came to Sherwood and moved about aimlessly, with nothing between our bodies and the stars. (As a point of fact, we _did_ resume such a life when we first removed here, and found it so miserable that I feared a rebellion in the ranks.) It was Much who suggested a compromise—that we cache supplies throughout this end of the forest, build permanent but light shelters in the different sections, and move amongst them in rotation. Not only would such a scheme make it harder for our enemies to track our movements, but it would allow us to serve a larger area than we did previously. (Much chatters on at such volume and velocity that it is easy to miss the good ideas amongst the prattle. He is really a very intelligent man, despite first appearances, and I am resolved to take him more seriously.) We were all enthused by the prospects of such a scheme; now that we have your design in hand, we are ready to implement it. I have already sent John ahead to scout suitable locations.

In the mean time, we continue with our work, with, perhaps, almost too much success! Allan has devised a clever way to take from the rich and give to the poor (as it were). He establishes himself in a tavern or hostel and lures the wealthy of the parish into games of chance and skill. After he has lightened their purses by any means necessary (and I dare not inquire into the details though I am sure cheating is involved on some level) he moves on to another village, where he does the exact opposite—he convinces the peasantry that he is an affluent naïf, new to gambling, and goes about _losing_ the money in as determined a manner as he earlier won it! He is good enough at what he does that no one suspects him, and at the same time, he makes it almost impossible to trace the flow of money from the rich landlords to the poor peasants. Of course, Allan enjoys himself immensely, but I have foresworn serving as a witness to his escapades after doing so once. He is correct when he says the only way to "keep the punters playing" is to let them win enough rounds to give them hope, but his stake comes from our hard-earned horde, and watching it slip through his fingers, even temporarily, is nerve-wracking. I have also observed that, when the profits and losses of his games with rich and poor do not come out even, he is not above pocketing the change. He thinks I do not notice, and perhaps it is best that way if it keeps him from overreaching, but it is difficult to bite my tongue. His subterfuge does solve a problem, though. I had been wondering how to provide some form of immediate pecuniary reward for the work and the risks the men take on while keeping our more noble goals firmly in the forefront. Keeping a "cut" from his gaming seems to satisfy Allan and avoids unseemly discussions between the two of us about the monetary value of his service. I believe he views the coppers that he keeps as a kind of commission, and I have found it easier to tolerate if I take the same attitude.

We also, thanks to Little John, find ourselves with a superabundance of cows, but I will leave that for a future letter.

And now, dear Will, that I have provided a synopsis of our life, I must request you to do the same for us. Are you busy? Are you safe? How do you find life in a desert city, so far from your green homeland? And how is Djaq? I know she and Marian have begun a correspondence, but I see Marian much less frequently than I did formerly and would prefer hearing directly from you than indirectly via Marian. We all miss the both of you.

Yours truly,

Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Dear Will,

We are escorting a friar through the forest to St. Martha's, on the abbess's request (who'd have thought we'd be _escorting_ friars instead of robbing them? Heh!) and I'm taking advantage of his good will to get him to write down a letter for me.

How's tricks in Acre? Have you seen any of those dancing girls we heard about? Or is Djaq keeping you on too short a leash? (Heh!) We're finally getting up to speed here and I've even got a new game going that's profiting me AND Robin's blessed poor, though Robin hasn't cottoned on to all the implications yet (wink!). And so far nobody in black leather has showed up unexpectedly to take me out of it, IF you know who I mean and can remember back that far. John's turned into a right pillock what with his sandalwood stinking up the place and his fancy French words, but Much and I know how to take the mickey out of him right enough and don't hesitate to do so. (Turns out Much ain't half bad at it, neither. Who'd of thought?)

Give Djaq my love and tell her all her lads miss her. And you. You two coming back? Cor, I think I'd go mad if I were stuck there in that heat and with all those damned birds, but to each his own.

Cheers!

X (Allan a Dale's mark)

P.S. John wanted to add a note but I told him there weren't no room. (Didn't want him to see the pillock bit now that he can read and all!) So really all he wants to know is, _"Bloody hell, hasn't he married that woman yet?"_ He gave me the feeling that if you say no, he's going all the way back to the Holy Land to MAKE you! Oh, mate, what have you gotten yourself into? (Heh!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** "Dear Carter" – Part 6

**Author:** dcwash

**Characters:** Robin, Marian, John, Carter and Djaq. Others referred to.

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect

**Rating:** E for Everybody.

**Spoilers:** None, really.

**Length:** 1696 words

Remember these? The letters from The Gang, to Carter (who lives!) from those who can write? I thought I'd better get on the ball and get where I wanted to go with these before the show starts again and new canon busts my dreams all to pieces.

Dear Carter,

Thank you for your frank assessment of Will's situation. He sounds as unhappy as I feared, but, true to his nature, is making the best of the situation. Because he is in no physical danger nor in any material discomfort, I am afraid there is little I can do to ease his condition: if I write too freely about life in the forest, I am afraid I will only compound his homesickness; if I write too little, I am afraid he will feel forgotten and neglected. 'Tis a quandary. And who knows what I should say about our Djaq in this context? At least it sounds as if he has kept himself busy and is in fact learning some new skills to compliment those he learned from his father. Please pass on the following note to him, if possible. Again, the information therein is for your eyes as well as his.

Yours brother in arms,

Robin

P.S. John has used up the sandalwood you so kindly sent him. If he asks you for more, I beg of you…._consider the request carefully before acquiescing_! He was rather liberal with the application of the said scent, and even the breezes of Sherwood could not always dispel the aroma.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Dear Will:

We are as well as can be expected and have expanded our operations. Most recently, we executed a number of raids that relieved some of the landowners around here of much of their larger livestock. They will not forget the outlaws any time soon! Also, I have learned we are not the only outlaw band in the forest. This has not proven to be a problem so far, but neither has it proven to be an asset. I am looking to change that, perhaps by joining forces, perhaps by only negotiating an extended truce so we need not fear each other. Our numbers are so low that any alliance would be helpful, especially if we are to have any hope of overthrowing Vasey's forces at the castle.

Marian is well and learning the dairying trade, though I fear she learns it the hard way. We see her with some frequency now, since the abbess has begun using her to relay messages. I do not know if this is because there has been an easing of Marian's outlaw status, making it less likely that harm should come to her if she leaves the convent, or if it is because Marian's importuning has worn the abbess down. (I suspect the latter!) She was very proud of the cheese she brought us the other day, and none of us had the heart to tell her that, though it did _look_ toothsome, it had no flavour whatsoever. But I hope the lessons she learns will prove her in good stead later, after our troubles are over and justice returns to Nottingham—it is good for a wife to have such skills, just as it is good to have a wife learned in the healing arts. And I understand from Carter that you yourself have been adding to your bank of knowledge. I know of no one else in our region who is skilled in marquetry and inlay, and I'm sure you can charge a pretty penny for your work once you set up your own trade. I may even commission some from you when I am back in my manor house in Locksley.

Yours sincerely,

Robin, Earl of Huntingdon

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Dear Carter,

Robin decided to hurt Vasey's rich allies by stealing their cows. He also decided I knew how to steal cows. So I stole the cows. Now he complains because there are too many cows! It seems he did not think of what to do with them once we got them. So we live in the forest with twenty wandering cows. And of course, they must be fed and milked every day, and heaven help you if you are at all late. They will let you know their unhappiness! Much approaches milking as just another chore that needs to be done, and at least Robin does not act all superior. But I think the closest Allan has every come to milking a cow has been to dally with a dairymaid. "I don't do saddling. And I don't do milking," he says. Over and over. Robin took him off milking duty because he said feared for the welfare of the poor beasts with Allan yanking on their udders. So now Allan has the job of figuring out how to get rid of them. We cannot give them away because their lords would recognize their stolen stock. We cannot sell them openly at the market for the same reason. For now, we deliver the milk to poor families with young children. Allan says we should slaughter and butcher the cattle and give the meat to the families. But Much protests. I think that is because he is too sentimental. Have you any suggestions?

Yours truly,

John Little of Locksley

P.S. I am sending this by way of Marian instead of the pigeon so I can include money for more sandalwood.

P.P.S. And she helps me with my spelling still!

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Dear Carter,

I am sure Robin has been having great fun at my expense with regards to my activities in the dairy of St. Martha's, so let me begin by saying: _No one told me the consequences of missing a few milkings could be so dire!_ Luckily, Robin was able to offer the good abbess a replacement for my late, lamented Rosamund. I dare not ask where he came up with such a fine heifer.

Mother Edith has been sending me out on more missions, including those with gangs other than Robin's. It seems he is not the only one with ideas of overthrowing Vasey! In fact, my conversations with those other outlaws have led me to believe Robin is their inspiration, and that when he left for the Holy Land in pursuit of Vasey and Guy, they, fearing he was gone forever, felt it incumbent to fill the void he left behind. I wonder if things will change now that he has returned.

In fact, I feel as though I have become something of a diplomat, an envoy for the abbess to any number of "countries," ranging from the wild men of the forest to highly respectable landowners. It seems that Robin's new strategy is beginning to bear fruit, and the subjects of his raids are less in Vasey's thrall than they were…which is not the same as saying they are in full-fledged rebellion. I dare not tell Robin this lest he take _too much_ encouragement from it and act precipitously. (And think of what the idea would do to his vaunted _vanity!_) In general, rumours abound—with regard to the king, to his brother John, to the Pope, to Vasey, to Gisbourne…. I try to turn a deaf ear to it all and judge only by the deeds that I see.

Please let me know if I can send any comforts of home to the vast desert where you dwell. I believe cheese is unknown in Palestine, and that it travels well?

Yours most sincerely,

Marian of Knighton

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Dear Djaq,

I am sorry to hear of your unhappiness in Bassam's household. However, I think I understand. When first I came to St. Martha's, I was thrilled to be once again in the company of women and away from the _grossness_ of forest living with outlawed men. I imagined a peaceful idyll among gentle, like-minded ladies, all with the same noble purpose. And, indeed, it seemed like that at first, as you may have gleaned from my early letters. But as time has gone on I have found that nuns _are not_ superior to other women in their jealousies and gossips and snits, and that in fact such petty inclinations may be concentrated by the walls of the cloister instead of dispersed by the residents' prayers. I imagine you find life in the harem to be similar. My time in the forest and now in the convent has led me to believe the presence of the opposite sex curbs the worst excesses of behaviour in both men and women. Perhaps you have found the same? And perhaps your restricted life is impacting your relations with Will?

(Ah, me! I sound like one of the biddies gossiping at the Locksley well! Ignore me. I am _not_ in a position to be giving advice in _affairs d'coeur!_)

I had a nice talk with Allan the other day. He misses you and Will dreadfully, but—as I'm sure you can imagine, knowing him as you do—makes a joke of it. I cannot swear to it, having only actually _lived_ with Robin's gang for a short while and therefore not fully comprehending the deeper currents that flow amongst you all, but it _feels_ as though there is still a certain _stiffness_ towards Allan from the other members and resultant _anxiety_ on Allan's part. Perhaps that is why he seems so eager for my company when I make a visit on the abbess' behalf. And, truly, I have been surprised at how our common experiences in the castle and with Guy bind us together. Knowing what I know—both the good and the bad—I cannot condemn him as harshly as John and Much once did and, to a lesser degree, perhaps still do. For instance, there have been rumours that Sir Guy has fallen into disfavour with Vasey. That is a source of great joy for most people on "our side," but neither Allan nor I can share the depth of their enthusiasm, which I am afraid makes Allan again the target of suspicion, though I seem to have avoided such ignominy. Yet neither can we explain our hesitation to the others, especially since we scarcely understand it ourselves. But there it is, and it is a comfort to know there is one other person in the world who "knows," and sympathizes. It is a strangely _intimate_ feeling that I find a bit unsettling.

And on that note,

I remain your friend,

Marian of Knighton


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** "Dear Carter" – Part 7

**Author:** dcwash

**Characters:** Robin, Marian, John, Carter and Djaq. Others referred to.

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect

**Rating:** Actually, the teeny-tiny kids might should avoid this one. But it's fine even for younger teens, I think. Definitely for older teens on up.

**Spoilers:** None, really.

**Length:** 1844 words

**Summary: ** More correspondence from Nottinghamshire to the Holy Land. In these…political intrigue and a surprise visitor. (Make that a VERY surprise visitor….) Also, Robin gets some help.

Dear Carter,

You most recent letter was greeted with gladness and not a little relief. We had heard of the Mamluk offensive near Jaffa and feared the worst. Many lines of communication are apparently still broken, but at least we know you are well and safe.

Much has happened in England in recent months. Peter, eldest son to the Earl of Kent, died under suspicious circumstances earlier in the year. Vasey, acting either on his own volition or in Prince John's stead, had spent much treasure and made many promises to secure the earl's cooperation in the plans of the Black Knight. Now the old earl had died, and his younger son and heir, Roger, has succeeded to the title. There was no love lost between Roger and his father, however, and Roger has countermanded all of his father's old treaties, including the one with the Black Knights, who believed securing the territory around the Cinque Ports was essential to their scheme to overwhelm the king on his return to England. Their plans, which were greatly weakened because of our "excursion" to the Holy Land, are now in complete disarray, and Vasey is greatly out of favor with Prince John. He still retains the title of Sheriff of Nottingham, but I believe that is primarily because of his prodigious ability to squeeze "blood" (money) from "a stone" (his tenants and sub-tenants). He has even instigated his own fees in an effort to impress the prince. There is much suffering in Nottinghamshire, though we do what we can to alleviate it.

That share has grown since last I wrote. I believe at that time I mentioned other bands of outlaws in the forest, and that I hoped for some form of cooperation with them. Several of those hopes have been realized. The bands are a mixture of old and new—older groups of bandits made up of simple brigands but also gangs of men (and not a few women) driven out of their homes and into the forest by Vasey's depredations. These are proud people who resorted to a minimum of thievery to put food in their stomachs. I have met with several of them and formed the alliances that I had hoped for, so that now there are a good dozen small groups using Sherwood as a base of operation, sharing information, working for a common goal, but mostly acting autonomously. As for the others, the rougher bandits….we have reached an "accommodation," shall we say.

I said at the beginning of my letter that we had heard of the Mamluk offensive. You may be surprised to hear of the source of our information: one Will Scarlet, who stunned us with his arrival a few days ago. I dare not ask how he found our camp, so far from the original one near Locksley, but he did. (I choose to chalk it up to his general cleverness combined with his knowledge of our ways.) Allan a Dale was on watch when he caught sight of Will's cloak through the trees and almost shot the poor lad. I am still mystified as to why he returned, and most especially, why he returned _sans_ Djaq. Will was never loquacious, but he has turned downright taciturn since we last saw him. We all fear that some kind of grief is stopping his tongue, grief regarding Djaq. We are loath to press him and instead are resolved to simply treat him gently until such time as he is comfortable discussing matters. I know the European forces have moved on from Acre, but if you learn anything regarding Djaq's health and safety, I beg of you, pass on the information.

Yours truly,

Robin, late of Locksley

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Dear Carter,

Robin has given me his _long_ letter to send to you via the church channels I use for communication to the Holy Land, saying his pigeon method no longer works. He did not explain—so _typical_ of Robin!—but I assume it has something to do with the fact that Will Scarlet is in _Nottingham_ now and not in Acre. I know Robin is concerned about Will and, separately, Djaq, because of what he believes is grief on Will's part. However, any _woman_, particularly any woman who has spent time with Will, would be able to see _immediately_ that he is not mourning, he is _brooding!_ Not to put too fine a point on it, he has the air of a man who has "broken up" with his lady love, not that of a man whose lady has joined the spirit world. (Query: _Do_ Saracens have a spirit world? I must consult the abbey library.) As you may expect, Robin and his men are _blind_ to such nuances and though Will has been back for _more than a week_ at this writing, refuse to raise the subject out of _deference to his feelings_! Though of course I look at Will with information they may not be privy to. Not that anyone has been so indiscreet as to _tell me all_, but I have been (as I believe you know) in correspondence with Djaq and it was obvious from her letters that she has been _less than happy_ of late. She has not mentioned a specific grievance against Will, but I imagine their relationship, already strained by _circumstance_, must have borne the brunt of that _malaise_ she felt, and that, perhaps, it was the "straw that broke the camel's back" for Will.

That said, Will may be _worrying_ as much as _moping_. I have not received any form of reply to my latest missive to Djaq, though it was sent lo, these many weeks ago. I doubt if that is out of spite on her part—though Djaq can be quite blunt, it is always a bluntness tempered by courtesy, and I believe that if she wished to end our correspondence she would have said as much. I fear—as does Will—_bad tidings from Acre_. Of course, there could be a happier explanation, but at best, the silence would mean even the Church is unable to get letters through, which is a daunting prospect. In fact, I fear this packet may not make its way to you yourself!

I do not know how well you keep up with politics here in England now that you are so far away, but you may be interested to hear that there is a new Earl of Kent. When the old earl, Gervase, died last month, his son Peter claimed the title. I begged permission from the abbess here at St. Martha's to attend Gervase's funeral, since he was a relation and, dear to my father in his time. While there, I was able to have a long and _fruitful_ talk with my cousin Peter about Vasey, Prince John, and _treason_. Peter was unaware that his father and elder brother Roger were caught up in the plot of the Black Knights. When I told him _all_, and detailed the misery Vasey has caused the people of Nottinghamshire, he turned quite solemn, but became positively _enraged_ when he learned I had been made outlaw by Vasey and of the injuries I received in Acre at Guy of Gisbourne's hand. It seems _this same Guy of Gisbourne_ was seen in the precinct at about the time of Roger's sudden death, and now Peter suspects a connection. (As little as I trust Guy, however, I do wonder at his _motive_ for killing such an ally?) But whether it was from family pride…whether it was from genuine patriotism…or whether it was from reasons I do not discern…Peter has broken his father's ties with Vasey, and most particularly with the Black Knight cabal. Between this coup and Robin's new role as leader of _many_ forest gangs (I believe I mentioned in my last letter that Mother Edith has been sending on forays as her representative to those gangs) I feel I am beginning to do some _longer-lasting_ good than I did in the abbey dairy.

And now, adieu!

From your friend,

Marian of St. Martha's Abbey

P.S. Have we here in England heard rightly that King Richard has been _kidnapped_ and is being held for _ransom_ somewhere in the Alps? Surely it is naught but a poor jest!

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Dear Carter:

Seeing as how it has been two weeks and Marian has not gotten her letter packet out yet, the lads thought you could use an update and asked me to rite you.

Robin said he told you that Will was back. Djaq did NOT come back. We all thought the worst but dared not further break Wills heart by asking. Finally Much gave up and asked, is there anything you want? meaning to be kind and helpful and thinking some sweetmeets might cheer Will. We was all shocked when Will busted out with, "What I rilly want is to go to a horhouse!" (I can hear that from the other lads, but that aint like our Will.) Much turned all red and Allan fell on the ground he laughed so hard! Robin just nodded and said he was sure that could be aranged. Allan of course was the man to do the arranging and took him to Grinston that very night. They come back next morning, Allan cheerful as a bird but Will tied to his horse he was so "hung over" and mebbe still drunk. I never seen a boy puke so much! He war syk for the whole day and night! Robin blamed Allan of course but Allan seys "he's a grown man!" and "am I my brother's keeper?" and such. We think Will shared secrets about Jak with Allan but Allan says naught but "in vino veritas" which he seys is Latin for "we all tell the truth when were drunk." He does say we have no need to grieve for Jac as we had, which is a relief. We still dont know why Will come back or where Jaq is but it is good to know the lass is not ded after all.

Will brung gifts. I'll not ask you for sandalwood this time, since Will gave me a nice box he carved from sandalwood himself. He brogt Much spices and a bit of silk for Marian. Robin got a lether ristguard for shooting arrows. Allan got a speshul gift, some pictures Will bought at a book market, the likes of which I never seen in England and which raze questions in my mind about why Saracens have so many wifes.

Your friend,

John Little.

P.S. You hurd about the King? I feer this will meen even more taxes.

P.P.S. I look over this letter and see many things that look wrong but that I do not know how to make right. Since I had to use words not fit for a lady I cud not be guided in the ways of spilling by Marian. Please pardon my errers. But I flatter myself that there are less errers than when I started our coris riting to you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** "Dear Carter" – Part 8

**Author:** dcwash

**Characters:** Robin, Marian, Carter. Others referred to.

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect

**Rating:** Everybody

**Spoilers:** None, really.

**Length:** 1513 words

**Summary:** The men are fighting amongst themselves, and _what on Earth does Carter think he's up to?_

(Note: This is kind of a transitional chapter to get us from A to C. It's also lays a little groundwork for a couple of stories that are mostly written in my head but have been keeping me up at night with the details, both of which flesh out a topic or two mentioned in the letters. They'll be posted next, before Part 9 of _Dear Carter,_ as their own separate LJ entries. And then maybe I can get some sleep.)

Dear Carter,

I write to express my best wishes on your joining the Knights Templar. Given your determination to remain in the Holy Land, I suppose it is the best decision. I fear I may overstep the bounds of friendship, but I must ask--what says your father about this sudden move? Since your brother's death, I have assumed you are the heir to your father's estate. Surely you have consulted him and gained his permission, if not his blessing? I trust you have weighed the merits of England vs. Acre, and the cost and benefits of joining an order of fighting monks vs. remaining directly in the King's service and eventually returning to your own fire in your own manor house with your own people around you.

I have little real news to report of our activities in Nottinghamshire, except to say we go from strength to strength. I now have so many men under my extended command that I scarce know what to do with them all! As I believe I have earlier alluded, these are men forced to flee to the forest by poverty induced by Vasey's activities. For the most part they form small bands that keep to their own devices, trying to provide for themselves and their families. Perforce this means harrying Vasey, his forces, and his vassals, but they also have sworn and oath to fight under my command in a more formal way if needed. It occurs to me that we are strong enough now to besiege the castle itself, but that raises the question of how to lay siege to the castle without causing the innocents of Nottingham town to suffer. I welcome any ideas you may have.

The return of Will Scarlet has made our life in the forest much more comfortable. He has built log shelters in several of our scattered encampments. They are small but snug and even include central hearths that have proven a blessing as the nights grow colder. All we need is a place for the five of us to be able to sleep safe from the frosts of night and to keep warm during the snows of day, and the new "cabins," as he calls them, serve those purposes admirably. Will has disguised them as cleverly as he did our old camp near Locksley, but even if they are discovered, I am convinced they will be taken as harmless woodsmen's huts—which they closely resemble--and left alone, especially as we continue to use the nearby caves to store booty and supplies.

Besides Will, the men you know best and have been so kind as to inquire after continue well and hearty. We have had a brief of crisis of morale, but I have no fear that the bonds of fellowship that have survived so much over the last several years will survive this as well. At issue was a woman it seems one of my men has been keeping in Nettleston. I viewed _the fact_ of the affair as neither here nor there, but it turns out the woman was also consorting with one of Vasey's commanders. The man—I prefer not to name him, under the circumstances—has proven untrustworthy in the past and at first I feared another betrayal, but now I am convinced that any slips of the tongue were brought about by lovesickness rather than by wicked intent. No real harm seems to have been done, but, of course, the situation could not continue. Passions briefly ran high in our camp, and some harsh words were spoken, but I have faith that we will recover from the injury with only the slightest of scars.

Yours truly,

Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon

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Dear Carter,

Thank you for your _most interesting_ news regarding your entrance into the Knights Templar. The convent library has given me to understand that knights are allowed to join the order for life or for a _finite_ term. Which course will you follow? I was left unsure by the wording in your letter if you had actually taken vows yet. If you have, I assume you are still a postulant? I have learned from life here at St. Martha's that, while there is _much_ to recommend the monastic life, _it is most surely not for everyone!_ If you realize you are one of that body while a postulant (as, I confess, I fear you may) you will be able to resume life amongst we lay people without sin or dishonour. It is only when one takes his final vows, after finishing his novitiate, that one is _fully committed_ to the order …and then _woe betide_ the man who abandons his holy brothers!

I am sure you are still interested in the state of our "rebellion" against Vasey, despite your new pious intent. Robin's strategy of turning Vasey's vassals against him appears to be working. A number of these men have written to Mother Edith asking for a meeting, where they intend to raise the possibility of their changing their formal fealty from Vasey to the Church--more specifically, to our abbey. I know this because the she has asked me to join her as her "_aide-de-camp,"_ so to speak. Several of the men were vassals to my father before his death, but others pledged their loyalty to Vasey even before he was named Sheriff, and their fathers to _his_ father. How so many oaths sworn before God will be undone, I cannot say, but I fervently hope Mother Edith will find a way.

There is little more news to convey. The men you inquired after are all well, though I believe there was some type of _contretemps_ lately…but that is hardly unusual amongst these five! All I know is that I arrived to deliver a message from Mother Edith to Robin only to find Allan _white_ of face, Much _red_ of face, and Will looking as if he wished he had stayed in Acre. No one will tell me what it was about, which I have learned by now probably means a woman is at the root of it all. (There have been a number of squabbles amongst the men lately—I am sure Robin finds it _most trying._ Again, they only squabble, and there is nothing new in such quarrelsome behaviour, but I believe the lot of them were more agreeable when Djaq was one of their number. Perhaps she knew how to curb masculine vanity before it got out of hand. If so, I greatly commend her—it is a skill I have yet to command!)

Ah, yes! That reminds me! I resumed my _correspondence with Djaq_ of late. She has specifically asked me _not_ to reveal its contents, but has granted me leave to tell her friends that she is well but has been forced to remove from Acre to a smaller town further inland, one from which communication from England is more difficult. I have told Robin and I assume he has passed the information on to the men. And so I pass it on to _you._

Your friend (and fellow "postulant"!)

Marian of Knighton

P.S. Mother Edith has asked me to refrain from informing Robin of the meeting with Vasey's vassals for now. She is sure that Robin will need to join her and the landowners in future discussions, not the least because of their _ire_ at Robin for the _raids_ he has led against them, but she is apprehensive of disrupting talks at this preliminary, delicate stage by involving him too early. I expect he will join us at the table before this letter even arrives at your fortress, but I must make a _pro forma_ request that you keep the matter in confidence until you hear of it from Robin himself.

P.P.S. We are expecting the arrival of our own postulant from the Holy Land, the daughter of a _misalliance_ between a supposed Christian woman in the Kingdom of Jerusalem and a vassal of our beloved late King Henry as well as King Richard. Her mother died recently and her father here in England has sent for her. But he distrusts Vasey and Prince John and is sending her to St. Martha's for her safety. I do not know if he intends for her to "take the veil" or for her stay here to be a short one—I am sure it will be _difficult_ for him to find a suitable husband for the girl, given her unorthodox parentage, no matter how rich her father or (as is reputed) how great her beauty and warm her demeanor. Under such circumstances, perhaps a cloistered life would be best. However, I am sure that, even with the best efforts _of all involved,_ she will find our ways and weather strange, even off-putting. Perhaps a letter from her homeland, from another postulant far from his own country and faced with many of the same dilemmas she will face, would be welcome? I imagine that two people in such a similar situation would find many _spiritual_ matters to discuss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** "Dear Carter" – Part 9

**Author:** dcwash

**Characters:** Robin, Marian, Carter. Others referred to.

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect

**Rating:** Everybody

**Spoilers:** None, really.

**Length: 5352**

**Summary:** So what happened to Djaq? This'll tell you, after some introductory business.

Note: I learned, finally, that the circle this show did with history cannot be squared. In other words, if you start trying to line up Richard's activities in the real world with the dates given on the show, it just doesn't work. So I've pretty much thrown all that stuff about "it's 1195, my friend" out the window and created my own timeline that owes more to the theory of relativity than to any earthly calendar, though I did try to ground it in _some_thing. Mostly, that means Wikipedia.

Dear Carter,

I believe the tide may have turned in our favor in the battle with the forces of evil in our land. A number of Vasey's vassals have publicly broken with him and allied themselves with new masters, most notably a nearby abbey. The abbess, one Mother Edith, is well known in these parts for the help she gives to the poor and for her resistance to royal power when she believes it goes against the teachings of the Church. She suggests that we have Marian's skills of persuasion to thank for this turn of events. At one time I would have scoffed at the suggestion, but I have since learned not to underestimate my Marian. Of course, it is too much to ask that these men join us in what I like to think of as our more military endeavors—after all, they were the _subject_ of those endeavors until recently, and those tied to the Church are also newly-avowed peace makers, not breakers—but now we can take the fight more directly to Vasey, in the knowledge that he has fewer supplies, and many fewer men, than he would wish. Rumor has it that even Guy of Gisbourne is operating as a freebooter now, nominally under the sheriff's influence but more active in promoting his own interests when they do not directly coincide with Vasey's. He is apparently laying the groundwork to replace Vasey as sheriff when the time is ripe. I remember telling you previously about the collapse of Vasey's scheme with the Black Knights. Marian believes Gisbourne played an active role in that collapse, and it is interesting to note how many of Vasey's more powerful friends have died in suspicious circumstances of late, around the times Gisbourne was sent to them as Vasey's representative. But Vasey is no fool. I am sure his is acutely aware of the adder in his midst, and is planning accordingly. I only hope I can wreak my own vengeance on that "black adder" before Vasey wreaks his.

I am unsure if my immediate gang has unwittingly involved itself in another of the contrivances and conspiracies that are afoot all around us now, but now that I know that Mother Edith is not just kind and wise but also wily, I think that may be the case. She has taken on a new postulant, the bastard daughter of an English crusader and his Egyptian mistress. We, in turn, have taken on the task of keeping her safe in the final stage of her journey, between Scarborough and St. Martha's convent. Normally, I would think of this as a bit of light work and nothing more—we seldom go into Nottingham any more, and I felt sure the men would welcome the diversion of a port town, especially as some have family ties in Scarborough. But I learned from the girl that her father is a faithful and trusted vassal of the King, and now I wonder if Mother Edith has some other plan besides simply providing the girl with a safe home—Catherine has shown an acute judgment and generous spirit on our journey, and I wonder if Mother Edith hopes there would be a strategic value in exposing her, first hand, to the troubles this region faces…for surely there are easier ways for a young woman to get to St. Martha's than cross-country?

(As an aside, writing knight-to-knight, I believe it would be a great loss to "man"kind for such a lady to take the veil, even to serve Mother Edith. Besides her other virtues, she is _quite comely,_ with an exotic, dark beauty, and has an easy temperament. She speaks little English and our countryside must be strange and foreign to one used to desert, yet she tackles the hardships and rough living of the forest gamely and even with humour. It is a good thing, in truth, that Marian joins us as her chaperone. Otherwise I am afraid there would be some conflict amongst the men for her favour, much as there was the last time we were joined by a girl.)

Which reminds me—our old mate Djaq has rejoined our band! She brings with her a useful new weapon, called a crossbow. Will understands the engineering better than myself, but it is easiest described as a bow, laid on its side and operated by a machine so that it shoots its bolt with much more force than a regular long bow. Will saw the device in action while in the Holy Land, but was unable to examine it well enough to replicate it once he returned to England. Now, however, with a working model at hand, he promises to provide us with a firepower Vasey's men will not be able to match.

In haste, I must sign myself,

Your friend,

Robin

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Dear Carter,

We are all very happy that our friend Jac has returned to our group. It was a surprise to everyone, I think most of all to Will. As quiet as he is, he has not spoken of their parting, and it is none of my business, so I have not asked about it. But they were very POLITE to each other when she appeared in camp, if you know what I mean, so I think they may have had a falling out because men and women are only that nice to each other when they are angry. Or it could have something to do with our guest. We are escorting a girl to St. Martha's convent. She is a silly, giggling little thing, and is always fluttering her eyes and asking the men for help, the opposite of Our Jak. But Will seems quite taken with her. So does Much. At least Allan is keeping himself out of it. So there wont be a repeat of the time we were hiding out near Thoresbury and that girl with all the brothers helped us out. There was no way that could end in aught but tears, even if everybody involved acted perfect. And I know these lads well enough by now to know that would not happen. I am only glad I have lived long enough master of my passions and they no longer master me.

Any road, you have joined the fighting brothers and care naught for women any more so I shall change the subject.

There are now many men turned into outlaws by the Sheriff and living in the forest. Most are farm folk who don't know their arses from their arrows when it comes to fighting. But still they wish to take up arms against the Sheriff and Gisbourne, and wish for Robin to lead them. It will be intresting to see what comes from it all. Allan thinks that each of the five of us should get our own gang with Robin as captain over all. Sometimes I miss being boss of my own gang as in the old days, but still, our team works so well together now, I wonder if it would be best for us to break up. What do you think? How do the fighting brothers do these things? I ask in earnest since I know so little of real armies and that seems to be what we are becoming.

Please right soon,

John Little

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P.S. I gave my letter to Marian for checking as per usual and she gave it back with nary a change! She gives me words to practise spelling with and it must have worked! I did see her make a face, though. It must be that bit about arses and arrows. She is with us so much I forget sometimes that she is a fine lady and not used to such rude words. I must be more careful.

Dear Carter,

I read John's letter to you to check for correction, as per usual, and was made so _indignant_ over his commentary on Catherine that I was blind to everything else. I feel I must protest his description of her as _"silly"_ and _"giggling"_! She is a perfectly sensible girl, only one raised by foreign women, secluded from the presence of men, and now in a strange land and barely speaking a word of English. _Of cours_e she needs help on occasion! And of _of course_ she is startled by the rough ways of the forest! i(And, I am sorry to say, of _English men!_)But facing these challenges with _good humour_ is NOT the same as being _"giggly"_! On the whole, I think she is _delighted _with her journey, seeing it as a grand adventure, and with her company. Half the men are charmed by her (including, no doubt, Robin!). Obviously, others are not, but it is _their loss._ Even they can appreciate how _lovely_ her appearance, though.

Will has struck me as the most enraptured, though I cannot say she returns his ardour _nearly as warmly._ (As I say, she is a sensible girl.) But whatever her true feelings, they matter not now that Djaq has returned. I must admit, I was surprised at her sudden appearance, but not shocked. As I told you in my last missive, our correspondence had resumed of late, and through it I was able to ascertain that she wished to rejoin her friends in England. I think it best for her to divulge whatever details about the circumstances she is comfortable with herself—so many of our letters were full of feminine confidences that I would prefer to take safety in silence regarding their contents. I am not sure if her arrival in England at the same time as Catherine was _complete coincidence_ or not, but her arrival in camp some days later caused such joy that poor Catherine was sorely neglected for a while. I say "such joy," but Djaq's immediate appearance was also the cause of some _consternation,_ coming as it did just as Will was lifting Catherine over a brook and receiving a warm smile in gratitude. He was so startled he dropped the poor girl in the water. He has been—miserably—on the receiving end of glares from both women ever since. Allan finds it hilarious; I must admit _I_ even see some amusement in it, especially since Will seems to have _completely befuddled_ as to why Djaq, at least, is put out. Ah, he is _such a boy_ sometimes!

But now Catherine and I—and, to my surprise, Djaq—are back at St. Martha's. I find them good company, and I think they feel the same towards me, but I do not know how long our situation will continue. If _I_, a Christian and an Englishwoman, find the convent confining, I wonder that Djaq can bear it. I expect that she will soon join her fellows in Sherwood. Meanwhile, Catherine is inclined to take the veil. As yet it is only an _inclination,_ and she is still a postulant who has not even taken the vows of the novitiate, so _it would be very easy for her to change course and marry._ In truth, I believe that is her preference, to have children with a good man and to manage the domestic duties of an estate. But where to find a _suitable husband,_ one who calls England home but speaks French as it is spoken in the Holy Land, understands the culture she comes from and the fighting she has borne witness to, and who has enough wealth to warrant the hand of the _daughter of an English nobleman,_ but not so much that he is put off by the circumstances of her birth? I believe that only such a man could be a _true husband_ to her, and that she is wise enough to prefer a life in service at St. Martha's to a marriage without mutual understanding and companionship.

Yours truly,

Marian

P.S. Catherine appears to be an able cook, but is rather lost without her spices. I told her that any order for such supplies would be more quickly fulfilled if she wrote to you instead of to her relations, because the Church messaging network is so dependable and because there is less distance to cover between Nottingham and where you are. So you can expect a letter soon.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

In the name of Allah the most Gracious the most Merciful

I send greetings to my good friend Carter.

First, a warning: Marian has acted as a spy and a diplomat for so long and to such good effect that I think she finds it impossible to stop scheming. Now that she has completed her work on Vasey's vassals, she is at loose ends and has turned to matchmaking as a way to keep her skills sharp. I am afraid she has been able to recruit Robin to her side in this, with you as her prime target. Beware!

Second, she suggested I be the one to explain why I am here. I am so exhausted in so many ways that I at first preferred not to, trusting her discretion about what you deserved to know and what was too personal, but then changed my mind. I can tell the men with me bits and pieces as is timely; that does not work so well when one is dependent on the written word. So, I begin:

I went with Robin to Acre in hopes of helping to bring peace about, believing that Richard was our best hope. And the treaty he negotiated with Saladin did hold. Jerusalem was opened to all, but the Frankish Kingdom of Jerusalem was much reduced and, to the satisfaction of the kings and emirs. Acre was made its capital, to the satisfaction of the local beys and merchants. Despite the grave injuries you and Marian suffered, I was happy: I was with my friends from Sherwood at the same time I was finally home, and took great joy in seeing my skills help heal such good people as Marian and yourself.

But my happiness was soon tempered. After Richard's departure, the Franks began to treat the remaining Semites with contempt, knowing his restraining hand was gone. I am sure you remember the most public and galling incidents, but as an Englishman, I expect you were never aware of the smaller but constant slights we all, especially the women, had to endure. No good could come from telling Robin and the others; they held no sway over the Europeans in Acre, and, personally, I was too proud to appear to them as a weak woman—if I could take care of myself as a slave and then in a land like England, I should be able to take care of myself in Acre. They could, and generally did, set a good example, and I could ask for no more.

Which is not to say they behaved perfectly, but I knew the problems that arose came from ignorance and misunderstanding and not malice or arrogance. Because I knew their hearts, I found their blunders almost amusing at first. However, others did _not_ know their hearts, and I found myself defending them to my people almost as much as I found myself defending my people from the Franks. I think that is why I spent so much time nursing you and Marian when a maidservant could perform the duties just as well—time spent with the two of you was time I did not have to negotiate between such conflicting forces. I had hoped I would be able to breathe freely once I was back in Acre. Instead, I found the only time I could do that was actually in the sickroom.

The pressure only rose after the death of Saladin. As I remember, that occurred shortly before you left to rejoin Richard, so you may have been too busy to notice an increased severity of attitude amongst the Muslims of Acre. That was partly because of growing resentment of the Franks, but also because distress over so many losses in recent years turned many people to a more stern form of religion, one that I do not remember even existing before Acre fell to Richard. We were lucky in that the Al-Hashshashin did not gain a foothold in Acre, but some of their attitudes came to be accepted by the people here. They seemed to believe that Allah had abandoned us to the Franks because we had abandoned Allah, and the only way to correct this was to embrace His rules more fully. What had once been frowned upon now became forbidden; what were once barely treated as suggestions now became laws. Relations between Muslims and Christians, even the most mundane kind, were discouraged, and men and women were segregated into more strictly-defined spheres, with chastity as an excuse. (I am sure the continued insults to Muslim women's chastity by the Franks was the main rationale behind this.) Bassam, of course, would have none of it, and his house became a refuge not only for Robin and Will but for all those who loved reason and learning and tolerance. I certainly treated it such, and found myself venturing out into the streets less often because of the disparaging, repressive tone I constantly encountered for being my old self.

Still, the strain of it all was intense, and I found myself taking it out on poor Will. I tried to remember that he was a stranger in a strange land, especially after Robin, Marian, and the rest of the gang left. I believe he was dreadfully homesick and lonely and quite possibly bored, but would not speak of it to me, much as I would not speak of my own problems—I think that, for both of us, pride may be our greatest flaw, and when two people of equal pride are together, the result can be like flint on steel. Now that time has passed—"the water is under the bridge," I think you say—I can see that he honestly tried his best to make a life for himself in Acre. He struggled to learn Arabic, and approached the task with his usual discipline and determination, but it seems a facility for languages may be the one talent Will Scarlet does not possess. Of course that kept him from forming new acquaintances, though in his quiet way, he did make the effort. I know he did not like to think so, but he became heavily dependent on me for every kind of support. I had to constantly translate and interpret for him, and not just the words of the people who surrounded him but their culture as well, even as that culture was shifting like sand under my feet. Luckily, he started working with a good-hearted carpenter in the neighborhood, which seemed to lift his spirits somewhat, though how they communicated I may never know. He increasingly retreated to his wood even as I retreated to my books, and, without either of us realizing it, what had briefly flamed as a passion burned down to a much cooler ember.

Though we had wished for no such cooling, it was just as well that it occurred, because stronger feeling would have made our situation even more untenable. As I said, even mundane relations between Muslims and Christians were discouraged. Eventually, local demagogues and their followers began to speak as anything more intimate than simple business transactions as a suspected betrayal of "one's own." Of course, the Franks had always ruled that marriage between a Christian and a Muslim could only take place if the Muslim converted. But now the common people of Acre themselves began to view mixed marriages with such aversion that it was nearly impossible to find an imam who would bless such a union, even though even I can cite the verse in the Qur'an that allows it. We could not live as husband and wife, yet were shunned as disgraceful lovers; the irony was that, by then, we were neither.

When I say "by then," I mean by the time the plague came to Acre, about a year ago. Acre has survived worse outbreaks, and indeed the number of deaths was relatively low, but I found it devastating nonetheless—it took Bassam, my stalwart rock and comfort through this all. (Insha'Allah, that good man will rise to Jannah on the Day of Resurrection.) Of course I grieved for him personally, but his death also caused more material worries: without him, Will and I were homeless. After all, Bassam was not really one of my relations, but only a friend of my beloved late uncle's. The ties of friendship are stronger and longer in my land than in yours, I believe, but even in Acre they do not stretch so far that I had any expectation of hospitality or protection from Bassam's son and heir; Will, of course, had even less claim. There was a time when it was acceptable for an unmarried woman of the upper classes to maintain her own household, with maids and guards, but I fear that time has passed and besides, my finances would not permit it. Will was making enough money with his carpentry to afford a room near his workplace, and suggested yet again that we try to marry, or at least set up together as a married couple, but I knew that would never work—even if the law and the populace allowed it, living in such a confined space, under such social pressure, with bonds of affection still viable but with all passion spent, we would both be miserable. I had relatives in a village near Safad, though I scarcely remembered them. I did not tell Will that I thought my only option was to go to them. I could not imagine how he could live in such a backwater, though, if cosmopolitan (or at least, f_ormerly_ cosmopolitan) Acre had proven so overwhelmingly challenging. I thought it best if he decided on his own that he should return to England. By now he had lost some of the puppy-dog devotion that marked our relations in earlier years—in short, he was more of a man and less of a boy, and viewed the world with his head as well as his heart—but he was nonetheless reluctant to leave my side. I determined to break his final thread of affection, and made it my mission to act as fractious as I could. It distressed me to see him hurt, but, Allah forgive me, it was such a release! And oh, so easy to give way to the temper I had restrained for his sake for so long! He soon began making plans to return to England. The day after he sailed, paying for his passage by working as a crewman, I left for my cousins'.

Village life proved even worse than I had anticipated. Until I was sent to England, I had always lived in cities. I saw first hand the squalor and hardship the villagers endured in Nottingham, but I naively dismissed it as unique to Europe, or perhaps, given the outrage of our gang members, unique to life under the yoke of the Sheriff. Of course, the life of a peasant is much the same the world over, with poor food, too much work, mean shelter, and much ignorance, but I had to live in my cousin's overcrowded hut for that point to be driven home. To make matters worse, they looked with disdain on my education and the freedoms my father had raised me to demand. I was forced to spend almost all of my time in the women's quarters and took any opportunity to tend to the goats or perform similar activity that would allow me at least the scent of freedom. Even then, I had to go about not just with my hair covered but in full niqab, stiflingly hot and cumbersome, with only my eyes visible. I know you will say I got too accustomed to the unrestrained life of the forest, that every society has its rules and customs, especially for women, and it would be anarchy if we all disobeyed them, and you may be right. What I found so galling, though, was that I had no choice. Even at the worst times in Acre, the women's quarters of the better houses, like Bassam's, were places to retreat to, not places of confinement you had to receive permission to leave; headscarves were treated as decoration as much as gestures to modesty. (I came to see the practicality of them as well, so much so that, now that my hair is longer, I have continued to wear a version even here in England.) In my time at my cousins' village, though, I began to see my hillside where the goats grazed as my "retreat," where I could think…and weep at my dilemma. When I was in England, not a day went by when I didn't long for my native land. Now that I was in Palestine, I longed for England. Or, rather, for my friends, most especially for Will.

It did not take long for me start looking for an escape. As I saw it, I had two paths: I could stay where I was with a certain future of misery, or I could, somehow, rejoin Robin's gang and live a while in freedom and danger and comradeship before who knows what happened. My hand was forced when my family decided I should marry a neighboring farmer. I was not even consulted in this, and had only had the briefest of conversations with the man. But the villagers apparently were beginning to see me as a source of dishonour for my cousins, and honour is taken with the utmost seriousness in these villages. If I married, I would become my husband's problem, not my cousins'—besides, I think they were heartily sick of me and my willfulness by this time. I managed to slip out one night when the house was asleep, and, ironically, it was my skills as an English outlaw that saved me. The distance from Safad to Acre is not great, but the way is rugged, and I knew my cousins would be searching for me. But I had learned from Robin and from Little John how to pick a hiding place, and how to find water, and how to travel under cover of darkness.

I was soon back in my home town, but with no money or belongings besides a few of my father's precious books, which my uncle left me in his will and which Bassam had saved for me for so long. It grieved me to do so, but there was nothing for it but to sell the books to pay for my passage. Bassam's son seemed like a logical purchaser, so I went to him with my offer, and was purposely vague about my ultimate goal with the money. He owed me nothing, but he was so moved by my story—or, rather, it was his wife who was most especially moved--that he insisted I keep the books and accept a generous loan to be paid back "some day." Acre is still a busy port, and, praise Allah, I found a ship heading in my general direction. When we landed in Sicily, I took lodging in a pilgrim's hostel and wrote to Marian and to the Mother Edith she had praised so heartily. I did not know if Robin's fight continued, if the gang was still together, or anything of the situation in England, and thought it best to discover these things before I blindly took across Europe. Mother Edith offered me the same hospitality the convent offers all travelers but made sure I understood that I could only stay for a longer duration if I was willing to join the sisterhood, and I would have to convert to do that. Almost as importantly, though, she offered to house my books, with the understanding that they were a _loan,_ not a _gift,_ to her library. Meanwhile, Marian told me of life in Sherwood, that it continued on much as before, with the only real changes being for the better. I joined a group of travelers gathering in the hostel to go to England. By the purest of coincidence, one of them turned out to be Catherine, a young girl destined to be a postulant at St. Martha's. At that point all she knew was that the nunnery she was headed to was in England, the land of her father. By the time I disembarked in Scarborough, she had already left, escorted by mysterious characters the other travelers described as "shady." It was easy to trace her movements—young Levantine women are scarce enough in Scarborough to draw attention to themselves—and I followed her at a distance for several days out of concern for her safety. The concern left me when I realized her "shady" escort was none other than Robin's gang, and that her mere presence was turning the men into ridiculous simpletons. I confess, I timed my appearance for the greatest affect, and found the results highly amusing, all the more because it left my Will highly embarrassed. I am, as Allan says, "milking it."

Or I was. I write this from St. Martha's, where I am resting and enjoying myself with cultured company once again. The sister in charge of physic here is most enthused about what my books have to offer, and Mother Edith has extended my stay so we may work together to translate them from Arabic to Latin. Nonetheless, I see what Marian meant when she wrote of growing restless in this world. These are intelligent, thoughtful, educated women, and yet I find myself longing for at least the occasional company of men almost as much as I did while in my cousins' purdah. I have come to the conclusion, much as Marian has, that both sexes need each other to be fully human. Still, I can't help but remember how harsh the forest life was, and how much comfort there was to be had at Bassam's house. Perhaps I will be able to divide my time between the two worlds, the one of freedom and wild action, the other of learning and grace, much as Marian does. Or, perhaps, I can go back to the forest but reserve this convent as a retreat, much as the women's quarter in Bassam's house was a retreat from the bustle and intrigue of the streets of Acre, but one to be entered and left at will, not out of fear.

Oh, but this has been a long letter! Oh, but there was much to tell!

Djaq

P.S. As I looked over my letter for errors, I found that the humour I intended in my first paragraph did not convey. I am afraid it is dependent on gestures and looks and vocal expression. So when I saw words like "warning" and "scheming" and "beware," I became uneasy that you would take them too seriously. Let me say, explicitly, that while, yes, I believe you to be the subject of a matchmaking conspiracy, I have met the young woman in question and have a favorable impression of her. There is a lightness to her, but she still has a brain in her head and exercises it with regularity, though I don't know that I would say she is a true intellectual. It is more that she exhibits good judgment and thinks before she speaks or acts. But she is also kind-hearted, and the combination of traits is most agreeable. She is quite the flirt, though, and I find her a bit too much of a "girly-girl" to my tastes, but, as Will says, I am most possibly the least "girly" woman on earth, so I may not be the best one to judge these things.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** "Dear Carter" – Part 10

**Author:** dcwash

**Characters:** Robin, Djaq, Carter, Little John. OC: Winifred. Others, including Carter's mother, referred to.

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect

**Rating:** Everybody

**Spoilers:** None, really.

**Length: **3382 words

**Summary:** Wanna know why I started writing fan fiction? So I could write a part for myself. Because every gang of flashy super heroes could use a kick-ass, smart-ass old lady to keep them in line and do and remember things they can't. Winifred the Baker is the one for Sherwood. Imagine Ros from _Spooks_ crossed with Mrs. Cratchit from _A Christmas Carol_: she'll shoot you where you stand and then cluck about how you're bleeding all over the carpet and besides, you're underfed, you poor dearie. Besides, I grew up in the woods and keep shouting at the screen when they get simple forest stuff wrong. Now there's somebody who can yell at them in person for me.

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Dear Carter,

I am sorry to hear of your mother's stroke. I read your description of her symptoms to Djaq, who is one of the best physicians that I have ever met. I think she plans to write you herself, but she has led me to believe that, though such attacks are serious by their very nature, it is often possible for a victim to recover their faculties, at least in part. We here are all praying for your mother's recovery. No matter the upshot of those prayers, however, I agree that leaving the Holy Land and returning to Lincolnshire to take her place in managing your father's estates is for the best. There is no shame in leaving either the fight for Jerusalem or the Templar order under such circumstances, and I am sure the brothers of that order have said the same. And (to speak frankly) your letters have left me with the impression that you tire of war and have had some misgivings over what seemed to me a hasty decision to take holy orders. Surely, my friend, you have done enough in the service to the Cross and the Crown to have earned a peaceful life back home. Once you have the running of your manors in hand, and once you feel confident of your mother's health, I hope you will pay us a visit in Nottinghamshire.

If you do make such a journey—and Lincolnshire and Nottinghamshire are so close that I expect, nay _demand_ one, eventually—you will find life here somewhat changed. Those manors that have left Vasey's control and now answer to St. Martha's Abbey are supplying the sisters' work with the poor in the broader area, so the general suffering has abated somewhat. I feel that my men can better serve by directly taking on Vasey and his men again, rather than by simply stealing and delivering food and coin. I have decided that my earlier aim of assassinating Vasey would have only a minimal effect—Prince John would only substitute one brutal lackey with another. But a genuine mass insurrection, one that involves all ranks of men and all territories under Vasey's control, is another thing—even a tyrant like Prince John would have to make concessions if such a rebellion occurred. There are enough peasants living in Sherwood Forest now, and enough knights and noblemen angry at Vasey, that I believe it would be possible--_if_ I can devise the proper strategy and _if_ the assorted factions can form a cohesive militia. I think the gentry are mostly on my side in this, which is no little thing. The question is, can the large number of freebooters and starvelings now living in the forest learn how to fight, especially _en masse_, and to subject themselves to military discipline? I may try training a few groups as an experiment. In the mean time, we—my band and others--work separately and together to harry Vasey's communications and supply lines.

In the process, we are traveling farther afield from Locksley and from Nottingham town, and have taken on a most unlikely new member of our gang, at least temporarily. An old woman with a withered hand, by the name of Winifred, was living in a cave near our northernmost camp when she approached us. (Much to Will's consternation, I might add; she found _us,_ despite Will's best efforts at disguising the camp, instead of _us_ finding _her!_) Her husband was a small landowner in the area and she a baker, but she lost all—land, home, ovens, and even family—to Vasey over the last few years. My original thought was to escort her to one of the nearby convents, or even all the way to St. Martha's, but she had other ideas. She proposed joining us as a cook! Her husband was originally a man at arms for Gervais, a Norman lord who inherited property around here but whose main interests were in the County of Tripoli; upon their marriage she followed him to that land and served as a baker and general cook and camp follower for the Norman forces defending their territory there.

The idea of such a crone living in the woods appeared ludicrous on the face of it, and I treated it as such, though I hope I still managed to show the respect due her station. But she presented us with two large fish she had caught herself, and which had eluded all of the men in our gang, including myself. She made the point that not only had she the skill to catch the fish, but that she had had us under observation for some time while she determined who we were and what we were about, while we never suspected we were being watched. She thought this demonstrated something of her ability to look after herself in the woods, and if she could look after herself, couldn't she look after us?

I was—and in truth, still am—hesitant about taking her on but could tell from our first acquaintance that she would try to talk me down if I flatly told her "no." So I proposed a series of tests against my men, assuming that would be the best way to prove to her that she was incapable of defending herself against discovery by Vasey or Gisbourne's guards or even from robbers, and that she should serve out her declining years at a local hospice instead of running with outlaws. I am not ashamed to admit that, to a certain extent, she proved me wrong. She is one of the best archers I have ever seen, male or female, once you take her crippled right hand into account. She knows how to make up for her lack of physical strength with guile and agility, and says she even has a passing familiarity with the use of a sword. On the other hand, she lacks stamina, is not much of a horsewoman, and has a temper and tongue that could prove problematic. I have a feeling that she is not one to automatically obey orders but would instead insist on arguing and knowing the whys and wherefores before taking any action, which is not good.

I have to admit, having a dedicated cook would be a boon in a number of ways, namely by freeing Much from those duties. As it is, we either have to fight with a man down while he remains in camp to take care of domestic work, or have to limit the range of our activities so he could stay close enough to camp to prepare meals in an even semi-timely manner. And if she is half the woodswoman she implies she is, our hunting duties will be greatly reduced, if not entirely eliminated, as well. For now, she travels with us in what I have told her is a trial period. The men are somewhat divided in their opinion of her. Allan, who has a hard time understanding her through her thick local accent, is convinced she is a witch. I tell him that even the Church holds belief in witches to me only superstition, but I have to wonder if she might not be some kind of a wood sprite, she is so at home in the forest. On the other hand, Much and John have a great fondness for her: She lived in Locksley back in the days when the village had its own baker and brewer and is acquainted with them from that time, though neither Will nor I have any memory of her. Much is now begging to let her stay much as a boy begs his father to let him keep a stray puppy, and I may give in.

Your friend,

Robin

P.S. Since you ask, the name of Catherine's father is _Ambrose_. He is based in the western part of the county, near the border with Derbyshire, with some property in that country as well—I can't presently recall the name of his seat. I don't know that I would call him "rich," exactly, but he is certainly comfortably well off and a man of good repute. As far as I know, he has no other children than Catherine.

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Dear Carter:

Robin told me he is writing you and what he will say. When I argued with some of his points, he told me to write you myself. So I do.

Winifred is no witch. I would not say she is even old, unless I be ancient myself—she is a few years younger than me. Her father was the royal forester and huntsman in Sherwood, and she was raised in the woods instead of in a proper village like most people. She had no brothers, so her father taught her all the woodcraft he knew and made her his helper. At least for a time; she came to Locksley as a girl to be an apprentice to our baker. I suppose her parents thought they'd never find a husband for her, tucked away as they were and raised as wild as she was, and that she'd better learn a trade. The story around Locksley was that her people were nobility in the old days or maybe even royalty, and they took to the woods rather than bow to the Normans and have been there ever since. (Or were there—I think Winifred may be the last of the line.) At any rate, they must have made peace with the Normans at some point for her father to be named "royal" anything. But I know they stuck to the old ways more than most, which is why she talks so funny: she grew up speaking the Old Tongue, English with no French in it, and for all I know still speaks it, though the rest of us have most forgot it. That would be like her. She always was a contrary one. How she wound up married to a Norman soldier is anyone's guess. I was at the wedding and I still haven't figured it out. That was when I was a young buck, and Much was a very wee lad, and Robin but a babe; I don't think Dan Scarlet had even wed Jane yet, let alone fathered Will. I was surprised Much remembered her, but Winifred was kind to him after his mother died and his father would bring him along when he took the flour to the bakery, and it must have stuck with him.

I knew all that, and knew she was back in the area for some time—I think her husband's lord paid him for his services with land here abouts. If I had thought about it, I wouldn't have been surprised to find her back in Sherwood, but I was anyways. I think I was more in my rights to be surprised that she has the makings to be such a good outlaw. She shoots arrows almost as good as Robin, and that's shooting left handed. I suppose she learned shooting from hunting with her father, but she'd only be as good as she is now if she'd been keeping in practice, and knowing her, that probably means she's been poaching. That's probably why she's so good at melting into the shadows, too. Lord knows she has a hatred for the Sheriff and for Gisbourne, on account of her family and her hand—enough that I bet she's willing to do the thieving and lying we do against him.

None of that explains why she's so good at fighting, though. (Not that she's _so_ good, just that you'd expect her to be dismal, and she ain't.) As one of his tests (I think this was after he finished his letter to you) Robin took us to the edge of a big gulley and challenged her to race Much to the other side, without any tools to help. Well, Much took off running around it to find a crossing point, but after a lot of time arguing that, if soldiers were really chasing her, she'd have at least a knife on her (true), Winifred turned her apron round backwards, sat on it and slid and bounced and jumped her way down to the bottom. She had crossed the creek was almost finished climbing up a crack in the cliff on the other side when Much run up, panting, saying that guards were on their way. So there we all were on one side of the gulley, armed, and there were Winifred and Much on the other side, guards hard on their heels. Much at least had his sword with him, but Winifred was bare-handed. She did the sensible thing and stayed wedged in that crack in the cliff, just under the top, where we could see her but the guards couldn't, while we scrambled to help Much. Well, sensible only lasts so long with Winifred. When a soldier got too close to her crack, she reached up and grabbed his foot and fair broke his ankle and sent him tumbling down the side of the gulley. Then she pulls herself up and grabs the guard's sword and starts swinging it, all wild-like, screaming something about her daughter. Robin left me and Djaq to stay on our side, shooting at the guards, while he and Will and Allan took off on Winifred's route to the other side, which was well because I don't think I would have fit in that crack in the rock anyway. Between our arrows and Winifred's screaming and swinging, Much had a fighting chance till the others caught up with him, and then our lot won outright. But Winifred just kept going and would have run through a guard lying on the ground, helpless, if Allan hadn't pulled her off and said something about "he wasn't the one" or "he didn't do it" or some such. (I was across the gulley, remember, and couldn't quite catch it.)

So now she wants to do more than just cook. In truth, I think that's what she wanted all along and was using cooking as a way into our good graces. I have to admit, I'm on her side with this. She took on those guards fair enough, after all. I don't know that I'd feel right taking her along on nighttime raids on the castle, but surely Robin will let her do more than sit at camp and tend the fire while we're away?

Your friend,

John Little of Locksley

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Bismihi Ta 'aala

Dear Carter,

Taslimaat.

First, about your mother. Robin asked what advice I might send you with regard to her care. Please understand that many things may have changed in the time it took a letter to reach you from England, for your reply to reach us, and then for this letter to get back to Palestine. In addition, without having examined your mother myself, I am hesitant to offer any detailed diagnosis or prognosis. But it sounds as if she suffered a simple, moderate stroke—an attack on her brain and the workings of her nerves. This is not good but it could be far worse. I cannot tell from your description her difficulty in speaking comes from a problem with the muscles around her mouth or from problems remembering words. In either case, there is often an improvement with time. It also sounds as if that may be her only mental impairment, if indeed there is any impairment at all. To my mind, that is the greatest cause for thankfulness. There does seem to be some paralysis on the right side. Again, this often improves with time, especially if she has someone to help her exercise her limbs. And again, there is some cause for thankfulness in that, if her right side only is affected, her heart should be unharmed. However, I must caution you that people who have one stroke often have another, sooner or later, which is one reason I mentioned how things may have changed by the time you get home. Also, even if she regains the full use of her limbs and her speech, she will probably not completely recover in that she will tire more easily than before, and perhaps be more prone to confusion and irritability. The main treatment for that is rest. If you are able to lift the burden of managing the estates from her shoulders, and if she is able to maintain a course of gentle mental stimulation and moderate exercise, one that allows her to retire to her couch at will when she tires, she should be able to live for quite some time in reasonable comfort and acuity. I fully agree with Robin in that your return to England is the best medicine you could send her from the East.

Second, about our new companion! We have traveled northward from Locksley, which is why I am the one checking John's letters instead of Marian—she has stayed behind to work with the nuns at St. Martha's. We have not finished translating my medical books, but I found there was only so much of the cloistered life that I could take. I was about to decide it was a mistake, that I was better off at St. Martha's—I had forgotten how _maddening_ living with a group of men could be—when Winifred showed up at our camp, fish in hand, skirts tucked up around her waist, and barefoot. It was something of a shock, as you may well imagine. It was even more of a shock when she took after the guards like a whirling dervish. But in most ways she is more like a stern but loving auntie—one of those women who never failed to catch you out when you were naughty but who also slipped you sweetmeats and a smile when you needed it—than anything else. No one will say it out loud, but it's rather a comfort to have her about, taking care of us, for all that she fusses. After our encounter with the guards, Robin called a gang meeting to determine what we should do with her. Only Allan showed the least reluctance about her joining us, though Will was still a bit sulky at how easily she found us in the first place. (Something about how the leaves on the forest floor were distributed?) We each gave our own reasons. I made up something about how her cough worried me, and how she shouldn't be sleeping in a damp cave because of it, but I agree with John in that I think Robin should let her take a more active part in our schemes. As John pointed out in our meeting, if, after knowing her all these years, she can still get him to lay down his guard enough that she can overcome him with a quarterstaff—he didn't tell you that, did he?—then what can she do against others who don't know her, and take her for nothing more than a frail old lady? Indeed, she isn't that physically strong, and I am better at a sword than she (though from what I saw she only needs a smaller sword, more fitted to her size, to show improvement), but she has enough guile and passion to make up for it. Maybe she could serve us as a spy as well as a cook? More selfishly, I already enjoy having another woman in the camp. The mood and tone have shifted ever so slightly—we are still a bunch of wild heathens, as Winifred puts it, but the lads are less likely to do such things as end dinners with belching contests than before she came. Much to my relief.

Yours truly,

"Djaq"

P.S. I was just about to seal this letter when I saw Winifred smack Robin's hand! He was trying to pinch a bit of fish she was smoking when she gave his hand a slap and said he had couldn't have any, that she was putting the fish up for winter, which neither he nor anybody else in the gang ever seems to have thought about. Robin looked so stunned that I do believe no nursemaid or cook ever had the nerve to give him a smack like that. Oh, I must write Marian!


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** "Dear Carter" – Part 11 of 12

**Author:** dcwash

**Characters:** Robin, Marian, Carter. Others referred to.

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect

**Rating:** Everybody

**Spoilers:** None, really.

**Length:** 2482 words

**Summary: **The end is in sight! Note: see if you can spot the _Henry V_ reference.

Dear Carter,

What a delight it was to see you arrived safely back to England! And what a surprise! Not the fact that you arrived safely so much as the fact that you called upon St. Martha's on your way home. I had no idea your correspondence with Catherine had progressed as far at is had, or your negotiations with her father. I found it rather amusing that the Reverend Mother asked _me_, of all people, to serve as a chaperone for your _tete a tetes_ with Catherine. Not only am I the _least_ inclined of all the women here to see fault with the relations between men and women, but I speak very little Norman as you and Catherine speak it, and even less Arabic (which it sounded to me that you slipped into on occasion). It was not like I could steer risqué conversation to safer waters! But the two of you chattered on at such a rate I don't know that that would have been possible even if you were speaking wholesome Midlands English! I gather from Catherine's blushes that the two of you, and your fathers, have reached some kind of "understanding," though she forbids me to use the word "betrothal." I was surprised that things between you had moved so quickly, but then I reminded myself that Robin's and my relationship—we have known each other all our lives, and have always just _assumed_ that we would marry some day—is the exception, not the norm…that most betrothals amongst our sort are between strangers, and at least you two are not that.

I am sorry you missed Robin when you came to our bit of Nottinghamshire, but he has been roaming the county and even the parts of Sherwood Forest that extend beyond our borders in an effort to gain tangible support for his plan for a final overthrow of Vasey. I worry for him. Usually, I am able to provide some kind of counsel about his plans, but he is talking about a military operation of such magnitude that I am out of my depth in assessing its strengths and weaknesses. Perhaps you can discuss it with him, and offer your input? The time it would take for letters to travel between Sherwood and Lincolnshire is nothing in comparison to what we have previously experienced; any word from you would be in time to prevent a possible disaster. Not that a disaster is in the offing, necessarily—as I said, I simply _do not know_ the viability of his scheme—but it pains me to see him fret so over it. He says the stakes are higher than any mission he has ever before undertaken—that this is his best chance at ridding the county of Vasey and convincing King Richard and Prince John that it would be reckless to name a new sheriff in his image, but that if he fails, _many_ lives and fortunes would be lost, and not just his own. I know that one complication is winning over the peasantry to take arms in opposition to Vasey. They fear—for good reason—what Vasey is capable of if thwarted…that he might put what little they have to waste out of pure vengeance and spite, whether it would help him stay in power or not. It is for that reason that Djaq, Winifred, and I have taken it upon ourselves to train the _women_ of the villages in the rudiments of self-defense. Our reasoning is that the men would be more likely to leave their homes to go to Nottingham town for a siege if they had fewer worries about the safety of their loved ones back home. I cannot say that that will prove to be the case but at least we are being _useful_.

I speak of Winifred. I have only recently spent much time with her, but from what I have seen, she has been an unalloyed _good_ for Robin's gang. They squabble less and seem more at ease in the world—perhaps that comes from the general good feeling generated by dependable regular, hot meals, and of more generally being _taken care of_. She has an old-woman's wisdom that I think we had all forgotten the value of, and now are grateful for. For instance, the sisters of St. Martha's and the gang joined forces a couple of months ago when an outbreak of measles hit the villages around Nettleston right as planting was to start. Djaq and the convent physician knew how to treat the disease, but, as Winifred was the only one amongst us all who had actually nursed sick children while helping to manage the operations of a farm, she had valuable insight into how our labor could best be deployed. (She also nursed Allan through his own severe illness that stemmed from the disease, though I must ask, _how can a grown man NOT have had measles as a child?_) I understand she has proven to be surprisingly good fighter as well, and Robin has taken to using her as a kind of sniper, sometimes positioning her high up in a tree and arming her with a short bow that is more maneuverable than a standard longbow. Robin has been desperate for intelligence since I am no longer at the castle, and she has suggested she could get work in the kitchens there; she may make a decent spy, if only she can refrain from putting ground glass in Vasey's food.

We have fought Vasey for so long, and so much of our old lives is gone forever, that it is hard to comprehend that the end may be in sight. I fear trusting too much in our own capabilities. _Please_ contact Robin about what is in the offing…I almost added "I beg of you," but I know begging is not necessary to such a true friend.

Yours most sincerely,

Marian of Knighton

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Dear Carter:

I write to congratulate you on your betrothal! That _is_ news worthy of the pigeon's efforts. I had gathered from your previous letters, and from Marian's intimations, that something was progressing on that front, but I had no idea it had gone this far. But then, Marian always teases me that I am a most ignorant fellow when it comes to these matters. I have always loved her, she has always (I hope!) loved me, we have always been neighbors, and we have always made a "suitable match," as people say, so I have never really considered the efforts involved in finding a wife. I do find it amusing that you had to go all the way to Palestine and back to find this one! She sounds like she will be a good wife to you in many ways, besides the obvious. You and I have been through much, my friend, and I expect you will have some trouble leaving the Holy Land behind in your mind and settling back into the life of an English manor. But you have found possibly the only woman in England who will know firsthand whereof you speak when you raise the specters of Acre, or of the terrible desert summers we endured. In that, I almost envy you.

I regret I was not able to meet you when you were in the vicinity of St. Martha's recently, but it could not be helped. We were in the opposite end of the forest at that time, recruiting and training volunteers for a final push to oust Vasey. All of the members of the council of nobles that I have contacted—or at least what _was_ the council of nobles, which Vasey has not deigned to summon for many a year now—are on board with my plan to lay siege to Nottingham Castle. Not all have pledged forces, but those who haven't have sworn to remain neutral in the fight itself and to resist coming to Vasey's aid. I fear their support is tepid, however, and would rather not depend on them to bear the brunt of too much fighting. My plan, currently, is to position their knights, men-at-arms, and pikemen on the plains surrounding the city as a show of force. I am sure Vasey will not capitulate without a fight, but perhaps the mayor of the town will, in which case we can move inside the city walls at will and lay siege to the castle directly. Regardless, I think the best maneuver would be to have the lads of the forest—the outlaws and the refugees who are more used to fighting in close quarters than regular troops—take on most of the fight with the guards inside the city walls, while the horsemen remain outside as support against any relief forces Prince John may send. The success of the plan depends on a confluence of events, timing, and luck. As you know, King Richard has finally been released from his prison in Austria and is on his way home. I think you were still in transit between the Holy Land and England when he sent a message to all his vassals, saying he will tell us when he reaches northern France so we may prepare for his arrival. I plan on striking when that notice arrives. That will leave Prince John with two choices: leave Vasey to face us down on his own, or move to put down our rebellion and be noticeably absent when the long-awaited king returns.

Even with luck and the help of God, however, this can only work if _all_ the people of the county are united. Which is why my immediate gang has been roving the forest and, whenever possible, leaving it for the villages. I believe we have nigh reached the point where there are more people outlawed and subsisting in Sherwood because of Prince John's and Vasey's levies than safely settled in their homes! We have met many strange characters along with the expected peasants, ranging from holy hermits to a surprisingly large band who deny the Plantagenets their right to the throne and want to overthrow what they call "foreign rule." (We escaped them with some difficulty, but while they hold King Richard in no great esteem and care not if his kingdom rots, they most certainly will not put their strength behind Vasey.)

I now find our problem is not a dearth of volunteers to take the castle, but a dearth of volunteers _who know what they are doing_. I have put my lads to work turning this rabble into a solid fighting force and almost literally beating plowshares into swords and pruning hooks into spears. I think Marian mentioned that she, Djaq, and Winifred have started teaching village women self-defense. Marian thought the men of the villages would be more willing to travel to Nottingham town for what could be an extended siege if they felt they were leaving their farms and families with some protection, and that has proved to be the case. (It has also proved to be the case that these countrywomen have a fierceness about them that astonishes! I sometimes wonder if it would be best to bring the _women_ to the siege and leave the _men_ behind.) Winifred was a cook for the Norman forces in Tripoli and she is also organizing the women already in the forest so that the fighting men will be provisioned. I was of two minds as to what to do with Djaq—she can fight better than most regular soldiers, but I think the local men would balk at being put under the immediate command of not only a woman but a Saracen woman at that. I believe she would be able to bring many of them around, with time, but I think I will make her in charge of tending the wounded instead—a necessary job, one that she is highly capable at performing, and one that would meet no resistance. I am sure she will gain the assistance of the local wise women and of the nursing sisters at St. Martha's and she has already put her head together with the Mathilda about the logistics of it all. Much will, as always, be my good right arm, serving as my all-round aide-de-camp. We are all taking our turns at directly training the men—and, sadly, boys—who have volunteered in how to fight, but most of that work has fallen to John and Allan, who I find are two of nature's sergeants. I suppose I should not have been surprised that John would command the respect of his contemporaries, or that he would know how to lead, considering that he had his own gang in Sherwood when Much and I first came to the forest. What has taken me aback is how good Allan is with the younger lads. He yells and bullies and is not above giving the slower ones a clout to the head, but they fair worship him for all of that. (A few seem to even be trimming their beards to look like his, in as much as they have beards at all!) And he is devoted to them in return, which they must sense even though he denies it. But if Allan and John are born sergeants, Will must be a born officer. He has a way of seeing the big picture and raising the right questions. He is, of course, our military engineer and has developed some ingenious yet simple weapons out of farm implements that will be easy for the new men to replicate. He has also been busy trying to figure out how best to breach the town's, and then the castle's, defenses. There was an unmistakable glint in his eye when Djaq and Much discussed siege engines they had witnessed in action during the Crusade, but I have made him forswear attempting construction of _that_ magnitude.

So. We have a quartermaster (or, rather, quarter_mistress_) and a battlefield surgery. We have fighting men, and sergeants, and officers. I suppose that leaves me as the general of it all. To be frank, my friend, the thought makes me quail. I have borne arms in many a battle and led my share of charges, but this is beyond anything I have ever done before. If we win, hundreds—nay, thousands—will be able to live their lives out in security, knowing the rule of law applies to them once again and the starving time has ended. If we lose, I fear all our lives will be forfeit, down to the smallest boy minding the baggage, and I will be called into account before God himself. I welcome any counsel or service you wish to render, though I understand that Lincolnshire has its own troubles with Prince John at present and you may not be able to join us in the field. In the mean time, we wait, and train, and hope.

Yours truly,

Robin, Earl of Huntingdon


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** "Dear Carter" – Part 12 of 12

**Author:** dcwash

**Characters:** Robin, Marian, Carter. Others referred to.

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect

**Rating:** Everybody

**Spoilers:** None, really.

**Length:** 6263 words. Yes, really.

**Summary: **So…do the good guys win? Do the bad guys lose? Does everybody make it out alive? And what happens next?

Dear Carter,

We have held Nottingham town in siege for some days now. I have never seen so many people gathered together for one purpose, let alone to fight a battle, and I find it unsettling. It seems the way a siege works is that you hope so many soldiers showing up at a town's gates will scare the townsmen into giving up, and if that does not work, you try to keep the townsmen inside and keep others out so those inside get so hungry they surrender. Then, if you have to, you try to break into the town's walls.

There has been little for us to do in these days but wait and hope the town gives over so we can lay another siege, on the castle within. Djaq and Will walk about with their heads together, talking serious and with grave looks on their faces. Much prattles so about victory and Bonchurch that we are all heartily sick of him and it puts a strain on us all because we know he natters out of fear. Allan flits here and there, going who knows where at night.

But howsoever, we are to make our push upon the town tonight. Robin took our gang's remaining gold and silver and divided it amongst us, share and share alike. Please, if worse comes to worst and the fight goes the way I fear, notify my wife Alice Little—I believe she has moved south to Hickling, near Leicestershire, with her new husband and may use his name now. Will Scarlet asks the same. Rather, he asks if you could please tell his brother Luke, who is in Scarborough, if he is killed. None of the others have anyone to mourn them. It makes me sad to think it matters not to anyone if they die, so I humbly beg you to use a portion of the money I include to pay the monks to sing masses for our souls. Please send the rest to Alice. If you cannot find her, then use the money as you see fit.

Goodbye,

John Little

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Dear Carter,

I am writing (in a manner of speaking) to request your help in creating an official

report for the King on the recent siege of Nottingham and its aftermath. As you can probably tell, another is acting as my scribe; an injury prevents me from holding a quill, and I am too weary to give the report proper form. I know you were there for part of the proceedings and know how they occurred, but I will include those parts anyway to better arrange my own thoughts. I leave it to you to choose which information to include and which to leave out, including the names of the combatants—they deserve their share of any glory that is handed out, but not of the king's condemnation, if he is inclined that way. Please feel welcome to add your own observations.

**XXXXXX**

First I must state that the only design of this siege was to end the tyranny exercised by Lord Vasey, Sheriff of Nottingham, in the name of Prince John and the Crown. Noblemen of these parts petitioned the prince many times for relief only to be answered with brutality and heightened strictures. Homes have been burnt, peasants starved, and in some cases noblemen have even been murdered and outlawed for opposing Vasey's schemes to enrichen himself at their expense. In addition, I personally found evidence that Vasey, along with a coterie of allies throughout the kingdom, had at one point engaged in high treason against Your Majesty. However, all petitions and protestations fell on deaf ears. Many men, exiled to Sherwood Forest, resorted to arms in defense of their lives and those of their people, but it took a steady accumulation of indignities before there numbers were such that more formal and direct action was taken. In that way, this siege was years in the making.

We in the forest and our friends elsewhere in the county had long worked to restrict supplies and funds going into Nottingham Castle and we doubted that Vasey, in his role of constable of the castle, had been able to stockpile much in the way of provisions. However, my men had gathered intelligence from the town and castle in recent weeks that indicated the time was propitious to act and that any siege would be of relatively short duration--to wit: that Vasey was already reduced to purchasing (and often seizing outright) the most basic provender from the common market of Nottingham; that morale was among his men was much lowered as a result; that Prince John was due in Nottingham to finalize some business with Vasey before the arrival of Your Majesty to these shores; and that Sir Guy of Gisbourne, long thought to be Vasey's most loyal subaltern and the commander of his guard, had been secretly acting in such a way as to lower Vasey in Prince John's estimation and to raise himself in the prince's esteem, probably in the hopes of taking Vasey's place as sheriff and constable. Our main concern was how best to discomfit Vasey without doing the same to the townsmen.

The siege proper began on July 8th, when Lord Carter of Swinhope (Lincs.) sent word that Your Majesty had arrived in Caen and was preparing to embark for England. On that day, I notified my lords Byron of Newstead, Pierrepoint of Holme Pierrepoint, Stanhope of Helford, and Sir Tibetot of Langar. They left directly for Nottingham town, bringing with them several corps of pikemen and men at arms and several dozen cavalry. They formed a blockade at the moated south side of the town, sealing off the main entrance. I supplemented their forces with fighting men from the forest, mainly in the form of archers but also men trained in the use of swords and quarterstaffs. Meanwhile, I positioned the bulk of my yeomen in the woods on the north side, around what is effectively the rear entrance to the town and the road to Lincoln. The mayor of Nottingham town came to treat with us forthwith. We assured him that our grievance was not with him or his people, but with Prince John and Vasey; that if he allowed us the freedom of the town so that we might advance on Vasey directly, no harm would come to the denizens of Nottingham or their property, but we could make no such promise if we had to fight our way in. He withdrew to consider our terms but returned directly with a refusal. _(NB: Carter, I can hardly blame the fellow, stuck as he was with Vasey's sword almost literally at his back. Still, I think much bloodshed would have been averted if chose otherwise.) _We settled in for a longer blockade than we had hoped and I sent word to Lord Carter of our position.

The troops surrounding the town, both on the plain and in the forest, kept up a generally good morale—they were well-fed by women organized by one Winifred of Featherstone, a lady whose husband and father both served your father well but whose manor was taken by Vasey upon her widowhood. The men were also heartened by the knowledge that Lady Marian of Knighton had organized a defense of their villages so they need not fear the deprivations of any reinforcements from the rear who might hope to draw them away from their main purpose. (Lady Marian, I might add, had also lost her lands to Vasey and more particularly to Gisbourne, who imprisoned her father--your faithful vassal Edward--and burned her home.) There was some back-and-forth between the forces on the southern plain and the guards manning the town walls, but my archers were able to reduce the ranks of the guards to such a point that a form of attack, based on the unconventional warfare we developed in the forest, seemed feasible.

On the night of July 18th, I sent two small cadres to the front and rear of the town in an effort to claim the battlements and prize open the gates. A group of about a dozen, under the leadership of Allan a Dale, a man not originally of these parts, were able to assemble portable ladders and use them to scale the walls by the main south gate. From there they spread east and west, surprising and quietly disposing of the guards, one-on-one, as they went. John Little, a disposed farmer from Locksley, led a similar group through a similar action from the north side. , _(NB: Carter, please make Allan and John's positions sound more impressive than "stranger" and "peasant." All such creative thought has fled my mind.)_The post each guard had filled was now filled by one of my men, taking the guards' weapons and armor and sending a silent signal to our men below when they were in position so we could guage their progress. Once the circuit was complete, the two gates were opened. The men we had stationed in the forest entered from the north while the forces arrayed across the southern plain stayed in place—the purpose of opening that gate was to allow the residents of the town to leave for their own safety and to give us freer rein to maneuver within the walls. All of this was done under the cover of darkness. When Vasey awoke, he found the town half-emptied of people and his castle surrounded by archers. He sent his guards out to take us on, but while fighting was hot for a brief while, they soon withdrew to the safety behind the castle portcullis; a fair number were so disheartened they abandoned Vasey altogether.

And so we began a second siege, this time with a more cheerful heart since our friends in the town were in a more tenable position and since Vasey was now doubly surrounded. Given the circumstances, we could not promise absolutely that their persons and property would come through the siege safely, though we made the firmest assurances that our fighters were under strict orders to abjure theft and arson and to refrain from molesting the inhabitants. Any who wished to leave were free to do so, but were subject to investigation to ensure Vasey would not be able to call for reinforcements. Foodstuffs were allowed in—again, subject to inspections—so none who chose to stay would go hungry. In this manner, we were able to recruit many inhabitants to our side, some even to active participation with arms.

Prince John arrived with a small retinue as we began the second week of the second siege. He offered to parlay so that our uprising could be settled before word reached Your Majesty. Because of this offer, the commanders outside and inside the town walls ordered their men to stand down in a truce, and the Prince was escorted to the castle so we could discuss our demands—namely, the disposal of Vasey; the return of all lands to their rightful owners; the reduction of taxes and the elimination of extraordinary fees; and a restoration of the Common Law of your father, King Henry. Most of the affected landowners—in other words, most of the commanders of our forces—were in attendance.

Prince John acceded to our first demand surprisingly easily, but while we were in negotiations with the rest of the points, a battle cry went up from the southern plain. Somehow, Sir Guy of Gisbourne had managed to escape our cordon and was now at the head of a band of mercenaries, many of whom I recognized from a previous encounter some years earlier. _(NB: Carter, Gisbourne later said he was authorized and the men were paid by Prince John, who was unable to raise a force from his vassals in the standard way, but Gisbourne was in such a ranting choler at the time that I know not whether to believe him. I leave any mention of that to your discretion.)_ Lord Stanhope's pikemen, who were the rear guard when the surprise attack occurred, acted with great courage and discipline and were able to beat the initial thrust off, and Lord Pierrepoint's forces moved with great alacrity to secure our flanks as had been arranged earlier, but the result was a very thin line of defense indeed. I positioned archers on the town walls to fend off forays both from the plain in front and the castle guards within, and settled in for a siege.

The mercenaries quickly responded by constructing two siege engines. Instead of battering our walls with great balls of stone, however, they pummeled our men with scattershot, causing grievous injuries and forcing them to retreat to the town itself. However, the mercenaries followed no rules of warfare and abducted several of the wounded men before they could receive aid. They advanced their engines toward the walls as our forces retreated until they reached a point where they could use the same scattershot of small stones to not only sweep the archers from our parapets but to prevent the townsmen from moving about the streets. (I noted with grim pleasure that some of this scattershot flew over the castle walls and into its courtyard as well.) We were under constant bombardment during the day; at night, the mercenaries positioned the men that they had captured at strategic positions within our hearing and subjected them to horrible tortures. Needless to say, morale amongst the civilian population plummeted within only a few days. It did not help that Winifred of Featherstone, who is a most skillful archer as well as cook, was injured in the initial barrage on the parapets and so prevented from operating the cellar field kitchens she had prepared for such a contingency.

I had amongst my men a skillful engineer, one Will Scarlet, a carpenter from Locksley whose parents died because of Vasey's orders and who was outlawed for the most trivial of reasons. He manufactured an ingenious device with mirrors that allowed him to study the action of the siege engines in detail. (He also created a number of other weapons and defense tools that served us in great stead from the start of this engagement to the finish.) His observations led him to believe he could permanently disarm the trebuchets if he could get close enough to handle them. For that reason, he, accompanied by my faithful man-at-arms Much (whom I know you remember, Your Majesty, from our time in your guard in Palestine) circled several miles on foot, through the forest and across the river Trent, so they were able to sneak their way into the mercenary camp under the cover of darkness, spike the siege engines, and return, undetected. Their sabotage was such that the machines violently collapsed when the mercenaries attempted to use them against us come morning, causing much confusion amongst them and much cheer amongst those in the town. _(NB: Carter, Will tried to explain to me what he was about, but it involved much talk of "force" and "counterweight" and "stress" and left me thoroughly lost—I had thought in terms of simply cutting the ropes on the things, but, as he pointed out, they could have repaired that in ten minutes' time. If you want a further understanding, you must consult him and not me.)_

We had prepared for just such an event and took advantage of their confusion to launch a full-out attack, led by heavy cavalry, supplemented by a new light cavalry made up of men such as the aforementioned Will and Allan who were skilled in both swordsmanship and horsemanship but new to mounted warfare, and followed by infantry, all bolstered by archers. (We left a small guard of woodland fighters behind in the town to contend with the castle guards, under the leadership once again of John Little, which was a good thing inasmuch as the castle guard which so despised Vasey now rallied under Prince John's leadership.) As expected, the cavalry was able to break the opposition, but as dreaded—given the unconventional methods of the mercenaries and the slight training of so many of our own men—the battle then was reduced to a melee that created great confusion and a large number of casualties. We had anticipated such could happen, but were blessed by the presence of a Saracen who came to this land when she was cruelly sold into slavery some years ago by Crusaders in the Holy Land. Since then "Djaq" (not her true given name, but the name she goes by in England) has served my band and the people of this area well as a physician. She was trained by her father in battlefield medicine in Acre, and courageously set up a surgery under the drawbridge even as the battle raged, sometimes going so far as to enter the field herself to drag others to safety. She treated the wounded from both sides without discrimination and used her sword to protect her charges when the fighting overran the moat. It is because of her, and her alone, that anyone was able to survive their injuries.

This is where matters stood when you and Lord Carter arrived with your entourage. Our men were most cheered by your presence, and, trusting in your sense of fairness, immediately began to recover their discipline and fight once more as an organized force. At the same time, the mercenaries took fright, knowing they could now not escape justice, and were so put to rout. As per your instructions, the men withheld giving long pursuit. And it is here that Lady Marion's efforts in the surrounding hamlets came to play. These men were not true soldiers, who under the best of circumstances are still wont to pillage and loot after; instead, they were mere rapacious bandits who fought only for pleasure and profit. They would not be denied, and if Nottingham town would not sate their desires, then the villages would do. The pikemen and archers from those villages may have been prevented from defending their homes, but the women left behind rose to the purpose admirably under the leadership of Lady Marian. As I understand it, little livestock and few crops were lost and not a single woman or child was harmed because of the tenaciousness of the women of the area. _(NB: Carter, take my advice: never, ever think you can take on a swarm of livid country women armed with iron cooking pots and flax hackles.)_

One exception to this general state of things was my home village of Locksley. As my men were gathering to return to Nottingham town, we noticed a concentration of dark smoke in the direction of Locksley. There was no mistaking the signs of grievous arson. Sir Guy of Gisbourne, who had taken over my estates while I was in your service in the Holy Land, who had served as Vasey's chief henchman, and who had led the mercenaries in their assault, had put Locksley to the torch in what I believe was nothing more than a spiteful desire to draw me out and to cast me into your disfavor. I regret to say it worked and that I disobeyed your orders to halt pursuit and return to Nottingham. The women kept their heads and ably fought the conflagration but Gisbourne had his own guards in the village, separate from the mercenaries, who had stayed loyal to him. My men—mostly Locksley natives themselves—were forced into a house-to-house fight even as the fires raged. The guards were eventually dispatched, but my man Much suffered a grievous wound in the process. Much had been my good right arm throughout the siege and battle, much as he had been while in your guard in the Holy Land. He trained ploughboys to become soldiers, he rallied dispirited fighters, he daringly joined in the mission to destroy the siege engines, and, after leading the light cavalry in our final assault, stayed by my side as we cut and thrust our way through the mercenaries. And here he was laid low by the perfidy of such a black soul! I now ordered the rest of the men to concentrate their efforts on finding Gisbourne. At one point he was cornered in a barn near the adjoining hamlet of Clune, but he slipped through our grasp and took a woman hostage, releasing her on the condition that we arm him with a sword so that he might take me on in single combat. The fight was fierce and long…my current injury is a result…but I eventually came out the victor and Gisbourne was dispatched.

**xxxxxx**

Carter—

Robin's strength has been fading throughout the last part of his account and it has become so difficult for me to turn his words into a narrative that I end here. I believe he is conquered by nothing more than exhaustion. You need not be overly concerned about his injury. He broke his wrist in his final fight with Gisbourne, but it is a simple, clean break that will cause no lasting damage. Much's wound is another matter. He and Robin were taken unawares by one of the guards, in a burning outbuilding. Much leapt to Robin's defense and took the full weight of a slashing sword blow to his back, specifically, to just below the inferior angle of the right scapula. The paralysis he initially experienced seems, thankfully, to have been due to the initial shock of the blow to his spine and has since receded, but I am now concerned because the wound has become inflamed and Much is feverish. It is a severe laceration and I fear infection has set in. Of course, Robin will not leave his side so the three of us have been crowded into this cell at St. Martha's for the past few hours, which does not help matters. The rest of the gang have nothing more than simpler cuts and bruises, though I admit some are quite painful.

I was not there to observe Robin's final fight with Gisbourne, and from the description given by the men who were, I am glad of it. He said the duel was "fierce and long." I might add, "and dirty," though it sounds as if it was equally dirty on both sides, so in that since I suppose it was "fair." John's description of the end was troubling, but I suppose understandable. He said that, once Gisbourne was down, Robin went into a frenzy and delivered blows that did not stop until Gisbourne was most obviously dead and John pulled him off the body. John seemed to be quite shaken by the event. I have given them both draughts to calm their nerves, which may be one reason Robin's report is so disjointed.

(Later)

Robin prays that you insert in your report that there were 43 dead from both sides, 14 wounded, and 22 mercenaries taken prisoner. I am not sure if that count includes the civilians of Nottingham town and the women and children in the villages and the forest—I think it may, judging from what I saw. I believe that you will agree, in light of what we have both seen of the fighting in my homeland, that those are quite favorable returns. But it is funny how one's perception changes according to one's experience. I took the opportunity to congratulate Robin on his victory, not just in the battlefield but overall—I have heard few tales of looting in Nottingham, for example, and the time we spent in siege was almost nothing. Immediately upon leaving Robin, however, I spied Allan under a tree, head in hands. He was weeping for one of the young men he had trained, whose body he had found on the field of battle, and was in a state of shock from "so much" carnage. I comforted him as best I could but found myself grieving a bit for the loss of my own innocence in Acre so long ago.

Djaq

P.S. Though they are too embarrassed to mention it, I think Will and John would appreciate the return of their money.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Oh, my dear Carter, it is over!

(Hah! I am so full of gladness that I find all niceties of letter-writing have flown straight from my head!)

We are all in a daze and our emotions have run the gamut. I know Robin had Djaq write you with his account of the siege and I know you had to return to Lincolnshire shortly thereafter, so I will search my mind to tell you the rest, though it may come out in a disorganized form.

Of course, I did not take part in the siege itself so could add little about that event even if I were so inclined. Instead, I spent my time riding from hamlet to hamlet, rallying the women and honing their training. That was when I was not at St. Martha's, helping to set up an infirmary for the expected casualties or helping the women who remained in the forest while their men went into Nottingham to fight. That was during the protracted siege itself. Once it became obvious the mercenaries were on the run, I rode ahead and prepared the villages for what was to come. I am quite proud of what we accomplished. The women were quite frightened when Djaq and Winifred and I first came round and warned of impending battle and stressed their role in it, but when the time came, they _drove off_ the mercenaries in a manner those savages will not soon forget! Of course, the mercenaries were scattered and approached the villages in small bands, not in organized troupes, but these were terrible men. I know how quickly understandable fears can turn to hysterical terror…how self-doubt can paralyze…how women are _taught_ to believe themselves weak in the face of danger…and I am convinced that it would take only one or two men to ravage an entire village if those conditions prevailed upon their arrival. Instead, the women took themselves in hand and made it apparent from the first that there was nothing to be gained by attempts to terrorize them…_and won!_

Of course, poor Locksley got the worst of it. The mercenaries had no reason to destroy for destruction's sake—their only purpose was to _take,_ and if they were soundly thrashed in the attempt, they ran away. Locksley, however, was not subject to mercenaries; it was subject to a single wicked, _wicked_ man with imagined scores to settle. Robin was with me when we first saw the smoke. We galloped off, together, both immediately knowing that Guy had decided if he couldn't have Locksley, _nobody,_ most especially not Robin, would have it. I am sure that same feeling was in his heart when he stabbed me with his sword in Acre, but I also think he felt betrayed and forsaken, and during my long convalescence, I came to understand that I bore some responsibility for those feelings. But Locksley….what betrayal had _it_ committed? I think Guy had some type of love for me, along with a sense of possession, but he never spoke of Locksley with any pride or affection, certainly not in the same way Robin always did. The fact that he would try to _burn the village_ rather than lose control of it, regardless of the cost, speaks to the bitterness and anger and _evil_ that filled his heart.

Apparently, he sent his guards with torches to all the buildings around the millpond, regardless of what _or who_ they contained. He must have had half a dozen men left by this point. I will grudgingly concede that they must have retained some humanity in their souls in that they set fire to the barns and outbuildings first, which alerted the people in the houses in time for them to set to work putting out what the guards started. He appears to have reserved Robin's manor house for himself. I hate to say it, but I think the smoking coming from his roof made Robin lose all reason. He left off fighting the fires and ordered his men to do the same so they could all concentrate their efforts in finding and killing the men responsible. That is how, indirectly, Much came to be injured: instead of trying to put out a burning corn barn, one that did not yet even store the season's harvest, Robin insisted they plunge in in search of Guy. They were surprised by a guard instead. The guard lunged at Robin but Much interceded and bore the brunt of the blow himself. He was rendered immobile and Robin had to drag him out of the barn lest he burn alive. When Robin first told me the story I warmly thought of how, yet again, they had saved each other's lives, but it took little consideration to realize it was a _foolish, foolish_ venture. It did not help matters that Robin practically _dropped_ Much to his own devices as soon as Allan ran up, saying he had been overcome by Guy in one of Robin's barns and Guy had taken off towards the woods. (That may be harsh. Djaq was still working in her field hospital and none of the rest of us knew what else to do but clean and bind Much's wound and pray. Which we did, upon which point Robin _immediately_ took off in the direction Allan pointed.)

I cannot say with any certainty what happened after that. I _can_ say I am glad I did not bear witness to it. I was filled with terror that Guy would best Robin, but at the same time I had no desire to watch Guy _die_ in front of me. I rather think Allan felt the same way. He lingered a bit behind the others, with Much and me, saying he wanted to nurse a hurt Guy gave him in the barn, but it was such a trifling thing that it made me wonder how much resistance he gave Guy…whether, knowing he was so much more heavily armed than Guy, he let Guy make an escape rather than kill him himself. The irony is that it was, indeed, by _Allan's sword_ that Guy died. Guy had only a knife, and when cornered, put it to a woman's throat and said he would kill her if Robin did not meet him in a fair fight. That meant Robin gave him his own sword and took for himself the one nearest to hand. As luck would have it, that was Allan's.

Much's injury, the circumstances of Guy's death, the king's anger…that may have been the low point of our past few weeks. However, it was followed by the high point. Congratulate us, Carter! _For Robin and I are married!_ It took some doing, too. When Robin wrote his account, he feared the king's wrath. I thought that was a silly fear, one brought on by his emotional confusion, but he knows the king better than I. King Richard was made _furious_ by the siege…angry at Robin, angry at Vasey, angry at his brother…and I hope he saved some anger for himself, for I have come to feel his extravagant ventures in France and the Holy Land are partly responsible for the harsh taxes and treatment we have endured. I am convinced that we have you to thank for saving us all from the gallows, because I am convinced that you took advantage of having the king's ear to yourself for the journey from Dover to Nottingham and placed us in a favorable light. The king first ranted that Robin had acted seditiously in moving against Vasey, but his fury was eventually spent and he asserted his authority. He roundly condemned Vasey's actions over the past several years but, admitting Vasey had acted legally inasmuch as he acted with the permission of the Prince Regent, and, loathe to execute a nobleman, he confiscated Vasey's lands and exiled him to France. (I am sure we all would have preferred him to be hung, drawn, and quartered, but perhaps there has been enough blood shed of late.) Robin pleaded that the land that Vasey himself had confiscated be returned to its rightful owners, but the king had not the patience to pursue that course and so instead kept a portion of Vasey's property in Derbyshire for himself and turned the rest over to Robin with the understanding that Robin could reward himself or his allies as he sees fit.

Of course, this meant that Robin was now the owner of my father's old property. I tried not to find that irksome, especially because the informal betrothal agreement we had was along the lines of "what's your is mine, what's mine is yours," but the way it was handled still rankles. Because I am the orphan of a nobleman, I am, by law, the ward of the king, and can only marry whom he permits and under a settlement he creates. In most cases that is a mere formality but in our case, King Richard decided to take it seriously and insisted on examining Robin's as well as my father's estate, calling in lawyers, asking after wills—at one point he even wanted to perform a survey! For what?!? (I am convinced he acted thusly as a way to exert his power over Robin and nothing else. The siege was over, Robin was in the right, but the king was embarrassed by it all and wanted a way to make Robin pay a bit for that embarrassment.) Luckily, the one document we were able to find was a betrothal agreement I did not even know existed, signed by Robin's and my fathers when we were quite young and filed in the castle. (I believe that document was superceded by later events and half wonder if it's not a forgery cooked up by one of our friends, but never mind.) And what did it say? It did not get into specifics but instead said that my father ceded control of his property to me upon his death and then to Robin upon our marriage, and that Robin was his father's heir, and that the joint estate was to be jointly owned—in other words, exactly what Robin and I had devised for ourselves. With the eyes of all the local nobility and gentry upon him, the king apparently felt he had no recourse but to observe the intention of the agreement, though he did keep a portion of my lands for himself.

We were married immediately thereafter, as soon as the two of us could ride from Nottingham Castle to St. Martha's. Nottingham would have suited me fine for a wedding site—by this point _an empty fen_ would have suited me fine for a wedding site—but Robin wanted to include Much in the ceremony. (Much is _much improved_) but still somewhat incapacitated.) Besides, since I could not be married out of my home in Knighton, there was a certain _appropriateness_ to being married out of my home at the abbey. I remain there for a short time still—Robin wants to ensure his house in habitable before I join him. I am sorry you could not be with us but it was the tiniest of ceremonies and we plan a full marriage feast when the house repairs are finished, and you and Catherine are most heartily invited—that should be around harvest time so we will have double reason to celebrate. The question of who shall be the new sheriff is still outstanding; Robin _fears_ the job will fall to him but I believe the king would prefer someone more malleable.

As for the others? Things are still a bit at loose ends. Robin pleaded their cases to the king, trying show him how they deserved concrete proofs of his favor, but the king apparently found it too tiresome to deal with. Robin plans instead on rewarding them out of the lands granted to him by the king. He was able to extract a removal of their outlaw status, though, and certain legal protections for Djaq, who, as a Muslim, a foreigner, and a woman, faced difficulties that the others did not and was more in need of his protection. (I believe that she is, technically, now a ward of the king's, but it may be best if we did not explain the details of that to her.) She is still here at St. Martha's until they finish the translation of her Arabic medical books; she plans on keeping house with Winfred when that is done so she can see if she is suited to English village life and, possibly, to a new start with Will. Winifred herself has already up and moved to her old house in Featherstone, though I fear it is sorely damaged—that village belonged to Vasey most recently, and I heard that his serfs abandoned it and ran away to freedom as soon as they heard of his dispossession, leaving only the shell of a village behind. John seems to have returned to the forest, saying he was used to it by now, which makes Robin grumble. Will has gone to Scarborough to see his brother; their father died so suddenly and under such awful circumstances that what might be generously called his "estate" has never been settled, and both need to know where they stand before they can move forward. And Allan? He was here, and now he's gone, and who knows if he will come back again? We can only hope.

Yours _most happily_,

Marian of Locksley


End file.
